Harry Potter and the Man Who Lived
by Ulpian
Summary: "You will not harm them, Sirius," she whispered. "You will not harm my family." "Your family?" Sirius said in a low voice. His eyes flickered over to James. "He was my family before he was yours, Lily." Ten years after his godfather tried to kill him, Harry Potter attends his first year at Hogwarts. Intense visions of his parents' past tell him that something is coming - but what?
1. Chapter 1 - The Letter

_Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling - all characters mentioned, everything. Nothing belongs to me. I am merely playing around with her creations!_

 _Hello everyone - this is going to be a novel, updated every week or so._

 _Hope you enjoy!_

 _Summary: Harry Potter AU, not canon. A rewrite of Harry Potter's first year at school, and the friends and enemies he encounters along the way._

 **Harry Potter and the Man Who Lived**

 **Chapter One**

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of No. 4 Privet Drive, sat in silence at their pristine kitchen table. Petunia Dursley was as thin as a rake, with curly blonde hair and a particularly long neck. She was currently sitting stiff and upright in her chair, clutching her infant son Dudley to her chest, as if fearing he was about to be snatched away at any moment.

Vernon Dursley was a large, portly man, with a fondness for shouting and an intolerance for nonsense. He was sat with his arms crossed, frowning, his bushy moustache twitching every so often on his round (and rather red) face.

Both of the Dursleys were staring at a small bundle in front of them. To a passer-by strolling past their kitchen window, this bundle would appear to be nothing more than a rumpled lump of blankets.

But the Dursleys were able to see what a passer-by could not. Within the bundle lay a baby boy, fast asleep and clutching a letter in his tiny hand. Though young, Harry James Potter already had a mess of jet black hair atop his head, and (to the Dursleys' horror) a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Petunia Dursley had had the shock of her life when she had found Harry that morning, placed unceremoniously upon their doorstep. Milk from the shattered bottles flowing slowly down their garden path, she had picked the boy up, quite reluctantly, and stared at him. Vernon, having heard the crash of the milk bottles, had rushed to the front door and pulled his gently wife back into the house. Petunia had placed a crying Harry onto the kitchen table, picked up their own baby son from his high chair, and they had sat down to look at their nephew.

Harry had cried for a couple of minutes, settled back down, and was now fast asleep once more. Several minutes later, no one had moved. The only noise that could be heard now was the wooden kitchen clock, ticking softly behind the Dursleys on the wall.

A car door slammed outside. Both the Dursleys jumped, as if shocked out of a trance, and looked at each other, blinking.

After a few moments, Vernon cleared his throat and said, gruffly, "is that … er … I mean to say, did he always have that thing on his forehead? The … the mark?"

"No." whispered Petunia.

They both turned their heads back to Harry. The scar was bright red, but not bleeding. The skin around the wound was angry, and raised.

Petunia shivered and clutched Dudley even more firmly to her chest. He started to cry.

"Oh! Oh, Dudders …", said Petunia, as if she hadn't realised he was in her arms. Cooing to him gently, she got up off of her chair and left the kitchen. Vernon heard her walk upstairs and into Dudley's room, and when she returned to the kitchen a couple of minutes later, their son was not with her.

She turned on the baby monitor that was sat next to the sink, and brought it to the kitchen table. She looked pale and frightened as she sat back down. They both stared at the bundle again.

"What do you think this all means?" Petunia asked.

Vernon didn't answer. He shuffled nervously in his seat. He had never got along with Petunia's sister - indeed, neither had _Petunia_ , so he hadn't felt particularly bad about it - and he'd only met his nephew a couple of times. And yet, here he was, lying asleep on their kitchen table.

"I … I don't think Lily has a telephone number. Nor does … that boy. We can't … can't contact them." Her voice was extremely quiet.

"No. Well. I wouldn't expect … their kind, you know," said Vernon.

There was silence again. Then –

"Do you think we should open it?" Petunia asked suddenly, nodding towards the letter. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

Vernon didn't answer, but bent forward and picked up the letter. Harry's hand, which had been enclosed around a corner of the letter, disappeared into the folds of his blanket as he turned in his sleep.

They bent their heads together and examined the letter. It was addressed to both of them, in long, curved letters written in emerald green ink:

 _Mr Mrs Dursley_

 _The Kitchen_

 _No. 4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

They turned the letter over. A wax seal secured the letter, which Vernon Dursley broke with a shaking hand. He unfolded the letter, and they began to read.

 _Dear Mr Mrs Dursley,_

 _My name is Albus Dumbledore._

 _I regret that this is the means by which I must introduce myself to you, Mr Dursley (Mrs Dursley, you will remember me, I'm sure), and I am in no doubt that the following will come as a great shock (not to mention, a great sadness) to you, but I must inform you that Lily and James Potter have, most unfortunately, perished._

 _My sincerest condolences are sent to you at this most unpleasant time, but I am afraid that (as you may have put together) this regrettable situation leaves the Potters' infant son Harry an orphan, and without home or guardian._

 _Therefore, it is to you that I entrust his care. I cannot express how important it is that he remains with you until he is ready to come to school. He is, like his parents, a wizard, and will have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when the time comes. Until this time comes, however, you must protect him. Lily and James' death was no accident. Both your family and Harry shall be guarded from the horrors that befell the Potters, but only so long as he may call any home in which you reside his home also. This is of paramount importance._

 _I trust that you, as his relatives, shall provide a happy home for your nephew, and that he shall flourish under your care. I shall be in contact again in the future, when Harry is ready to begin his wizarding studies._

 _Many condolences for your loss, and the very best of luck to you._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Professor Albus Dumbledore_

 _Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _PS. Unless I am sorely mistaken, Harry shall not be attending alone._

The Dursleys finished reading the letter at the same time, and looked at each other. Petunia had tears in her eyes. Vernon's face was, for once, as white as a sheet.

"Petunia … I … I'm sorry, dear," Vernon grumbled. He was, once more, not sure what to say. "Your sister … awful business."

"Yes." She said, turning back to the letter.

He paused for a moment, waiting for her to look back up at him. She didn't, however, so he continued.

"We can't take the boy. Surely, you see that, dear? It's not right for Dudders. I know your parents aren't around, but don't you have another relative? An aunt, or … ? I mean, even an orphanage – "

"No."

The word was whispered, but Petunia might as well have shouted it in Vernon's face. He looked at her, stunned. She raised her eyes to him, which were no longer shining with tears, but stony, and cold.

She had made up her mind.

For far too long, Petunia thought, she been filled with feelings of jealousy towards her sister. Lily had always been centre stage, taking everything Petunia had ever wanted – their parents' affection, her looks, her brains – she had even been pregnant at a younger age than Petunia. Indeed, Lily had even had things Petunia didn't _know_ she wanted until Lily had them. Petunia remembered the day her sister received her Hogwarts letter – Lily had run, screaming with excitement down the hallway towards the kitchen in her pyjamas. She had been unable to remain still whilst their parents read the letter. Mr Evans had dropped his toast on his suit trousers in shock. It had remained there for several minutes.

Initially, like her parents, Petunia had felt nothing but wonder – _magic_ existed, real, true _magic_ – but after a couple of hours, the jealousy had set in. Why hadn't it been her – the elder sister – that had been chosen? Why was _she_ the one that had to stay at home, forever unimpressive with her hard work and good marks because Lily could fly on a broomstick and turn mice into teacups?

 _And now_ , she thought, _she's dead._

She was dead, just like their parents, and yet she had taken centre stage once again. Petunia would not be able to raise her son in peace. She would have to raise her sister's son as well, in her own home. Indeed, she would have to raise him or put her own family, it seemed, in mortal peril.

 _Typical Lily_ , she thought, as rage built up inside her.

"He stays, Vernon," she said, standing up, struggling to keep her voice level. "We are not putting Dudley in danger."

"But, dear –" Vernon protested

"He stays!" She shouted.

Vernon opened his mouth as if to reply, saw the expression on his wife's face, closed it again, and then nodded.

Petunia sighed and closed her eyes.

 _You will not be second best, Dudley,_ Petunia thought to herself. _You will always come first. Always. You will not be overshadowed. She will never do that to my son._

Petunia opened her eyes and looked at Harry. To her surprise, he was now awake. He was looking at her with bright, green eyes. Lily's eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, they stared at each other.

Then she turned away, and left the kitchen.

She left the boy to her husband. She had her own son to see.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Argument

_Hello All! Here is the second chapter – rather longer, this time!_

 _Just a small note: the title is now 'Harry Potter and the MAN Who Lived', Not 'Harry Potter and the BOY Who Lived' – I thought I should change the title (though it doesn't affect the story at all) because there are so many fictions written under the former title!_

 **Chapter 2 – The Argument**

'Wingarnium Loviosa!' said an eleven-year-old Dudley Dursley, grinning widely. Once a small, chubby baby, Dudley had now grown into a much bigger, much chubbier, boy. He had a round face and a mop of blond hair on his head, and was looking increasingly like his father as the years passed.

The stick in his hand swished through the air as he waved it over the mug sitting on the coffee table. The mug did nothing.

"Oh well _done,_ Duddy!" Aunt Petunia said, clapping with delight as Dudley swished his wand through the air again. She looked much the same as she had nine years ago, other than that her face was, perhaps, slightly more lined.

"I think you've got it!" she squealed, "you really have! You'll be top of your year at Hogwarts!"

The other boy in the room, a now ten-year-old Harry Potter, rolled his eyes and sat back against the squashy sofa. Harry was small for his age, and so slight that he always looked engulfed in any clothes he wore, even if they were the right size for him (which they hardly ever were, as most of his clothes were Dudley's hand-me-downs). He had messy, black hair that was always stuck up at the back, and bright, green eyes. He now wore a pair of glasses, which, having been sellotaped incessantly over the years, sat slightly lopsided.

Harry, Dudley, and Aunt Petunia were sat all together on one sofa in the sitting room, and Harry was feeling rather glum, watching Dudley practising his spells again.

Dudley never seemed to actually _want_ to start practising – probably, Harry thought, because he never actually wanted to do much that wasn't eating ice cream, watching his television shows, or blowing up aliens on his computer – but when he started to wave around his wand and say all sorts of garbled nonsense, his mother praised and rewarded him so much that it seemed to inflate Dudley's sense of self-importance like a balloon.

"You're getting so good, Duddy!" said Aunt Petunia, "I definitely saw it move, that time. Your technique must be almost perfect, now!" She beamed at her son.

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, leaning forward. "That's not even what it says – it's Wingar _di_ um L _ev_ iosa. He didn't get either word right!" Harry was looking at the battered old book on Aunt Petunia's lap, _The Standard Book of Spells Year 1_ by Miranda Goshawk, which was open at Chapter 3, entitled 'Levitation'.

Aunt Petunia snapped the book shut and glared at Harry.

"Go to your cupboard! NOW!" She shrieked. Harry groaned and slid off of the sofa.

He'd been an idiot. He knew complaining about Dudley's wand-waving wasn't a smart thing to do, but he often just couldn't help himself. It wasn't fair that he wasn't a wizard. Dudley would be going off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in September, and learning all about levitating things and turning matchsticks into needles and making all sorts of potions … he would even – and Harry's stomach gave a particularly painful jolt at the thought – be learning to fly a broomstick …

 _It's not fair_ , thought Harry. _It was_ my _mother who was a witch …_

His aunt had begrudgingly given him this information when he had spotted that the books Dudley was using to practice his spells all had the name 'Lily Evans' written inside the front cover.

However, it was not Harry, but _Dudley_ who was going to Hogwarts. Petunia had informed them both at age nine that Dudley was a wizard, and had told them about Hogwarts School and Witchcraft and Wizardry, and all the spells that he was going to learn. Harry remembered Dudley's eyes shining with glee. He also remembered the disbelief and envy that had immediately raged inside him.

Aunt Petunia had done all she could to prepare Dudley for Hogwarts. She gave him weekly lessons in spellwork. She had even revealed a small, golden, 'Quidditch' ball, which she would throw around to Dudley every so often to try and train him up for Quidditch. Aunt Petunia didn't know how to play quidditch (or even what the tiny golden ball was called), but she concluded that this practice was better than no practice at all.

Harry knew that Aunt Petunia's knowledge of the wizarding world was limited because she wasn't a witch, but the fact that she knew so much more than Harry about the world his mother had occupied bothered him immensely. He used to wonder where she had got all of her information from, but after he had spotted his mother's name in Dudley's school textbooks, he'd pieced it together quickly. Lily must have told her all about Hogwarts, and all the different classes she was attending …

Every time he saw his aunt and cousin sitting with his mother's old spellbooks, he felt an enormous sense of guilt. Had he failed his mother by not being a wizard?

At least, Harry thought, Uncle Vernon did not treat Dudley with the same sickening levels of affection as his wife did when their son was in his 'lessons' with her in the sitting room. Vernon Dursley seemed to want to keep quite a distance from his son and wife when they were in the middle of anything Hogwarts-related. Harry supposed he would have found this comforting, had Uncle Vernon not also held a severe dislike for anything Harry-related, too.

As Harry entered the hallway, he thought he saw Uncle Vernon watching the proceedings going on in the sitting room with something like disgust in his eyes. Noticing Harry looking at him, Uncle Vernon turned away and began to shuffle through his briefcase.

Harry hurriedly opened the door of the cupboard under the stairs where he slept, entered, and closed it shut behind him. He then pulled a spider off of his pillow, and placed his head down on it. Blinking away tears, he screwed up his eyes and imagined that it was _he_ instead who was going to Hogwarts. _He_ who was going to play a game flying round on a broomstick, or making a potion in a cauldron, or swishing his wand around …

Harry opened his eyes. It was pitch black, and he realised that he must have fallen asleep after being sent to his cupboard. He stretched his limbs gingerly and realised that his joints were aching. He had fallen asleep in an odd, cramped position (not a rare occurrence in the cupboard under the stairs), and would certainly pay for it over the next couple of days. As he ran his hands over his mattress and blankets, searching for his glasses, he suddenly became aware of muffled shouting. He paused immediately, and strained to listen.

"What you're doing is sick, Petunia! Sick!"

"You don't know what you're talking about Vernon! Keep your voice down, you'll wake Dudley!"

It was his uncle and aunt.

Harry sat, frozen in shock. He had _never_ heard his aunt and uncle argue before. Not once. Oh, they certainly shouted at _him_ and argued with _him_ , but never each other …

He strained to keep listening.

" … just making things more complicated for when the time comes!"

"I don't see how –"

"This is no time for experimentation, Petunia! This is our-"

"I am doing what I think is right, Vernon! I'm preventing him feeling how I felt!"

There was a pause, and then his aunt continued: "if you can't stand it, leave! But I am sending him there if I have to drag him myself!"

There was another pause. This turned into a long silence, and eventually Harry heard the creak of bedsprings as his uncle and aunt got back into bed.

Harry sat in the darkness for a few minutes, trying to make sense of all he'd heard. What was Aunt Petunia talking about? What was she doing? Where was she dragging who?

Harry was simply too tired to think about it all now. Yawning, he felt another spider on his pillow. Throwing it away into the darkness, he settled his head back down and fell asleep within seconds.

The next day, Aunt Petunia was bustling around in the kitchen when Harry came in for breakfast.

"Here," she said, stiffly, handing Harry a bowl of stale, bran cereal drenched in milk.

"Er – thanks," said Harry. Aunt Petunia had never made breakfast for him before. He stared at the bowl of cereal before him. First the argument in the middle of the night, and now this. What was going on?

He looked at his aunt. Her eyes were red, and she was sniffing quietly as she bustled around the kitchen. He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for her. Quite why he felt this, he couldn't have said – she had never (other than this sudden and mysterious bowl of cereal), treated him with any kindness or warmth.

He started spooning the cereal into his mouth, and moments later heard the heavy thud-thud-thud of his cousin coming down the stairs. Dudley's porky frame entered the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked. Aunt Petunia turned round. Her face held a strained smile.

"Well, what would you like, darling? We've – I've – got bacon, eggs, cereal … I could make you some of those pepper sausages if you like?"

Dudley's face screwed up into an expression of disgust. "Ugh, no. Dad's the one that likes those." He looked around. "Where is Dad?"

Harry's spoon paused on its way to his mouth. He looked around. He had assumed that Uncle Vernon had already left for work – his car keys were not on the counter, and his coat was gone from the hook by the door – but now that he thought about it, this didn't make sense. It was a Saturday. Where was he?

Aunt Petunia didn't answer for a moment. Silently she retrieved a packet of bacon rashers from the fridge, and placed it on the counter. She took a deep breath and turned to her son.

"Dudley," She said. It looked, to Harry, like she was gripping the kitchen counter for support.

Suddenly, Harry remembered the words 'if you don't like it, leave', and realised where his uncle must have gone. He stared at his aunt. It seemed … impossible. Inconceivable. Uncle Vernon could not have –

A sudden jangling sound came from the front door. Harry heard the door swing open with a slight creak, swing back, and then click shut. Slow footfalls proceeded down the corridor, and then the figure of Uncle Vernon appeared in the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia was chalk-white as she stared at Uncle Vernon. He was red-faced, looking at the ground. Dudley's confused face was turning from one of his parents to the other. After a few moments, Uncle Vernon turned and silently walked back up the corridor and up the stairs. Harry could tell he had walked into his study.

"What's going on?!" yelled Dudley, suddenly. His face was as red as his father's. Harry was sure he had never been ignored by either of his parents for this long. Frustration and anger showed clearly on his round face.

Aunt Petunia quickly started fussing over the bacon again. "Nothing, dear – your father just went out for a short walk. Would you like three or four slices of bacon, Duddykins?"

Dudley hesitated. Harry could see the battle between curiosity and greed waging within him. Eventually – as it always seemed to – greed won.

"Four," he said, "And some eggs, Mum."

Harry stood up and took his bowl to the sink. He rinsed it out, put it in the dishwasher, and retreated back to his cupboard to think.

He was sure, _absolutely_ sure, that Uncle Vernon had left No. 4 Privet Drive with the intention of never returning. Why? Was it because of the row he had had with Aunt Petunia last night? What had that been about?

Harry racked his brains, trying to make sense of it all. His uncle had said that Petunia was doing an _experiment_ – what had he meant?

Harry frowned. He just couldn't make sense of any of it. He sighed and looked over at a calendar he had made at the beginning of the year, which was taped to the wall. It was July 30th.

A knot of dread twisted in his stomach. His birthday was tomorrow.

Because any reason that Harry might have to feel special was always quickly quashed by the Dursleys, his birthdays were never any fun. In fact, his aunt and uncle always _coincidentally_ took Dudley out for the day on Harry's birthday. They had been to the cinema, to the zoo, and one year they had even travelled via train up to central London. That birthday had been particularly difficult. He had never been anywhere outside of Little Whinging in the whole time he had been living with the Dursleys, and so sitting in his cupboard whilst thinking about Dudley visiting Harrods, or the British Museum, or Big Ben … it had been almost unbearable.

A burning flame of anger and hatred suddenly ignited within his stomach. At that moment he felt, for the first time in his life, that he really wanted to hurt his family. To make them suffer, just like he had. To have them know what it was like to live his existence, even for a moment. To make them feel one _ounce_ of the misery he had felt for his entire –

A flash of pain seared suddenly across his forehead. He gasped, and smacked a hand to his scar. He sat in the semi-darkness, breathing rapidly, the pain gone as quickly as it had come. He did not remove his hand from his forehead. His palms started to become clammy with nervousness.

What on _earth_ had that been? A bad headache? Did he have some sort of serious medical condition that had suddenly now decided to surface? He ran his fingers gently over his scar. It was prickling now.

He frowned. He knew he had got the scar in the car crash that had killed his parents. They had, apparently, been driving too fast along the motorway on a particularly rainy evening.

Unfortunately for Harry, this was all the Dursleys could bear tell him about his parents (other than Aunt Petunia's one, reluctant confession that Lily had been a witch). A fierce expression of loathing would appear on his aunt and uncle's faces if he ever asked about his parents, followed by an order to go to his cupboard. He had learned to stop asking about them.

Despite this, every time Harry was in a car his eyes would dart round the interior, looking for some sort of car part that could have made the lightning-bolt shape of the scar on his forehead. He had never found anything that looked remotely plausible, however.

He was particularly fond of his scar. It was the only thing he really liked about his appearance, because it was the only real thing he had that connected him to his past, and his parents. And now it had betrayed him.

This was all too much. Harry felt tears welling up behind his glasses, and his vision went fuzzy. He hurriedly wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and resolutely decided to try and forget about everything worrying him, just for his birthday tomorrow. For one day, he would forget about Dudley's wizard status, his aunt and uncle's midnight row, and the pain in his scar. He could worry again about those things in August.

Harry fumbled around in the dark and found what he was looking for under his mattress sheet. It was a small, thin piece of metal that he had managed to flatten at one end, to make a kind of primitive screwdriver. With this, every year on 31st July, Harry was able to unscrew the lock that kept him trapped in his cupboard whilst the Dursleys were away – Uncle Vernon always triple-checked he had locked Harry safely up in the cupboard before they departed in his car for the day – and use the toilet, or watch television for a few minutes. He never dared to leave his cupboard for very long, but knowing he had more or less the whole house at his disposal was always exciting.

Harry was slightly more cheerful for the rest of the day, looking forward to his solitude the next day.

The morning of his birthday, Harry awoke, and tried to exit his cupboard. The door remained firmly shut. He pushed harder. The door remained closed.

Panicking slightly now, he took out his little screwdriver and unscrewed the lock on the door. He pushed at the door again. It swung open.

"Aha!" barked Uncle Vernon, triumph in his voice. "I knew it, I _knew_ it – Mr Reduh at No. 7 saw you walking around the house last year! You've been getting out when the cupboard's locked. Well, I'll be sure to take care of that! Get back _in_ , boy!"

He grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and shoved him back into the cupboard.

"No!" Harry said, panicking. His whole day would be ruined if he was locked in the cupboard, and he'd have no choice but to dwell on all the things worrying him. "You're not even leaving the house yet!"

"I'm taking no chances with you, boy!" snarled Uncle Vernon.

Harry back inside, Uncle Vernon slammed the cupboard door shut. Moments later, Harry heard a series of loud bangs which seemed to shake the whole cupboard. With a sinking feeling, Harry realised Uncle Vernon was nailing him in.

"No!" he shouted, "Nooooo!"

"SHUT! UP!" roared Uncle Vernon. He was now banging the hammer on Harry's cupboard so hard that Harry was sure he was denting the door on the other side. At this exclamation, Aunt Petunia came running downstairs from her bedroom.

"Vernon? What are you – "

"HE'S NOT GETTING OUT!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

Aunt Petunia said nothing, but folded her slim arms and stood in silence, watching Uncle Vernon nailing Harry's cupboard shut. She had a worried expression on her face. Harry looked at her pleadingly through the slats in the small cupboard window, and after a few moments she locked eyes with him. They stared at each other for a while. Eventually, however, Aunt Petunia's expression became stony and cold, and she turned her back on Harry and walked into the kitchen.

Eventually, Uncle Vernon obviously decided that he had embedded enough nails into the door to keep Harry imprisoned in the cupboard, and retreated to the sitting room, saying nothing to Harry. Harry sat back against the wall of his cupboard, and tried to accept the fact that he would be sitting alone, in this cramped, dark cupboard for the next few hours. They hadn't even left him any food.

Harry wondered, desperately, if there was anyone he could contact whilst the Dursleys were away to come and let him out. There was no telephone in the cupboard, however, and he knew no one at all, apart from the Dursleys and Mrs Figg – an elderly woman with too many cats who lived down the road.

 _I have no allies_ , Harry thought. _There's no point. There's no one to help._

How very wrong he was.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Giant's Entrance

_So this chapter is, in some parts, more recognisable to those familiar with canon and in other parts … not. Ooo, suspense! ;)_

 _More notes at the bottom of the chapter, please check them out after you've read the chapter. I didn't put them up here because they're to do with content in the chapter._

 _PS. If you feel like it, please do review! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)_

 _Enjoy!_

 **Chapter 3 – The Giant's Entrance**

BOOM!

Harry sat bolt upright in his cupboard as something made a deafening crash. Pounding footsteps in the corridor shook the mattress below him. His heart pounding in his chest, he scrambled towards the small slatted window in his cupboard door, and peeked out into the corridor. He saw an enormous, brassy buckle, twice as big as his head. It was attached to a thick leather belt, which seemed to stretch across the whole of his vision.

"Harry?" said a large, gruff voice, and a huge head bent towards the slatted window of his cupboard. A giant of a man was now staring at him, a confused expression on his face. He had beady black eyes and a large, bushy beard.

Harry retreated against the wall, eyes wide. He was unable to speak.

"What on earth are yeh doin' in there, Harry? Let's get yer out, then we can 'ave a chat, eh?" The giant smiled, encouragingly. "C'mon out, now."

Harry, still backed against his cupboard wall in terror, did not answer. The giant man's smile faded into concern.

"Yeh all right, Harry? I'm Rubeus Hagrid. I'm here to give yeh yer letter. Dumbledore did write to yer aunt n' uncle, to say I'd be comin'."

Harry frowned. Dumbledore? Who was Dumbledore? And why was he writing to the Dursleys about him? In any case, the giant man didn't seem to be here to do any harm to Harry, and so he slowly detached himself from the wall behind him. Hagrid starting smiling warmly again.

"Thas' it, Harry! C'mon out then."

"I … I can't," said Harry, in a small voice.

Hagrid's smile faded a little. "What? Why not?"

"My uncle locked me in. He … nailed the door shut." Harry nodded to the spot where he knew multiple long nails were embedded into the cupboard door.

"What?" Hagrid said, frowning. Harry saw his eyes dart to where he had indicated. He must have seen the nails, because immediately his face turned a deep shade of scarlet, and his eyes blazed with fury.

"They – they did _this_?!" He said, his voice shaking with rage.

"They … didn't want me to get out." Harry said. This was neither a helpful nor a useful thing to say, but he was still somewhat struck dumb by the giant's sudden appearance.

"Righ' … OK then … s'alright Harry, we'll get yeh out now." Hagrid pursed his lips, obviously still furious, but apparently wanting to remain as calm as possible for Harry's benefit.

"Stand – or, er, sit – back, then!" Hagrid said, straightening up. He pointed what looked like a spotty pink umbrella at the lock of Harry's cupboard, and said " _Bombarda_!"

The cupboard door exploded. Harry tore his moth-eaten blanket up over his head just in time to stop shards of wood hitting him in the face.

"Oh, oops – that was probably a bit much, eh?" said Hagrid, sounding sheepish. But Harry didn't answer him.

He lowered the blanket slowly from his face, his hair covered in chips of wood and dust. His eyes were shining.

"You're … you're a _wizard_ , aren't you?" He asked, his voice full of wonder. He knew that what Hagrid had just done was magic. What else could it have been?

He couldn't believe his luck. Admittedly, Harry wasn't sure why Hagrid had used an umbrella to cast a spell instead of a wand, but he didn't care. A wizard, a real wizard, had come to his house and let him out of his cupboard.

"You're a wizard!" He said, again. Questions flooded his mind. "Did you know my mum? Lily Potter? Or – maybe, Lily Evans? She was a wizard too!"

Hagrid beamed at him, and held his hand out to help Harry out of the cupboard. Harry accepted, and they stood together in the hallway, which was very cramped with both of them standing in it. Harry could now see Hagrid's full form, and gaped at his height. He was over 8 feet tall, and three times as wide. He was wearing a giant brown overcoat, a slightly worn white shirt and large, hide boots.

"'Course I knew yer mum!" Hagrid said, still beaming, and he started to dust Harry off with a hand as big as a dustbin lid. "I knew yer dad too – right decent wizard, he was. One of the best kids at Hogwarts durin' his time! Yer mother was too, o' course. Righ'! Best get this all cleaned up."

He pointed his umbrella at the cupboard and said, " _repairo_!". The cupboard immediately flew back together, completely intact. The nails sat discarded on the floor.

Hagrid now pointed his umbrella at the front door (which had apparently fallen completely off its hinges at Hagrid's entrance) and uttered the same spell. The door immediately whipped up off the floor, and settled back in place. With a satisfied nod, Hagrid turned back to Harry with a grin.

But Harry's stomach had jumped right up into his throat at Hagrid's last words. He was staring at Hagrid, mouth open.

"My … my father wasn't a _wizard_ , was he?"

Hagrid's expression turned to one of concern. "The spell didn' hit you _that_ hard, did it?" He started examining Harry's head.

"No, no – I'm fine," said Harry, quickly, shaking Hagrid's hands off his head, "But … I thought it was only my mother who was the witch – I thought it was just her and Dudley who were –"

But he stopped. He suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. _Dudley._ That's why Hagrid was here. Why else would a wizard have suddenly turned up at the Dursleys' residence?

"It's him you're here to see, isn't it?" He asked, miserably. He looked up at Hagrid's confused face. "My cousin, Dudley. He's a wizard. You're here to talk to _him_ , aren't you?"

Hagrid stared down at him. "Harry ..." he said, and his voice broke.

Harry turned away. All the wonder he had felt at Hagrid's appearance had disappeared. "He's not here. You'll have to wait." He opened the door to his cupboard, and started to re-enter.

"What … What've they told yeh?" he asked, in a voice that was barely a whisper. He sounded, to Harry's utter confusion, heartbroken.

Harry frowned and turned back to Hagrid, the cupboard door still in his hand. "What do you mean?"

Hagrid's hand slowly raised to his mouth, and the giant was silent for a few seconds.

"I don' … I never thought they'd … Dumbledore told me tha' you might need a bit of info, but I never thought they'd … it's _sick._ " Hagrid suddenly looked furious.

 _Sick_ , Harry thought, _that's what Uncle Vernon had said …_ What was going on?

Suddenly, a familiar jangling of keys came from the front door. Harry jumped, and tried to go back into his cupboard – he didn't want to imagine Uncle Vernon's rage at finding him standing outside of it.

But the hand Hagrid had previously been holding to his face was suddenly on Harry's shoulder. The force of it nearly knocked Harry to the floor, but Hagrid was holding tight onto him and brought him to his feet. He gently pushed Harry behind him, and turned to face the door.

Uncle Vernon's large form was now coming through the door, looking behind him.

"Alright," said Uncle Vernon, "well, find your water blaster and we'll head right back out, eh, Dudders? The showing isn't until –"

Uncle Vernon had turned round and stopped dead. Harry had never seen his uncle's face so white.

"PETUNIA! DUDLEY!" He shouted. "GET BACK IN THE CAR! A BURGLAR –"

"Don't." Hagrid whispered. He spat the word out, full of anger.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley had now poked their heads round the door, and looked horrified to find the giant standing in their house. Hagrid reached forward and pulled the door fully open to completely expose the three Dursleys. They stood in the doorway, clutching each other in terror, staring at Hagrid.

Hagrid pulled Harry in front of him, gently, and placed a hand again on his shoulder.

"This boy …" Hagrid whispered, his voice shaking. "You … locked this boy in a cupboard. You … let him believe …" he paused for a second, as if momentarily unable to go on, and then said, "you let him believe that his father wasn't … you _let_ him believe that he WASN' ONE OF US?!" Hagrid was suddenly roaring. "YOU. ARE. HIS. FAMILY!" He swung his umbrella across the air in front of him with each word.

The Dursleys seemed to be shrinking in the doorway. Hagrid continued.

"What 'ave you been tellin' him? James Potter? _Not a wizard_? This one –" he pointed to Dudley, "a wizard, but not _Harry Potter_?"

This was too much. Harry's head was spinning.

"Wait," he said, shrugging Hagrid's hand off of his shoulder. "Wait. But … my dad _wasn't_ a wizard. My mum was. They died in a car crash! They …" But he had raised his eyes to his aunt and uncle, and caught the look they exchanged. But before he could say anything, Hagrid started shouting again.

"A CAR CRASH? LILY AND JAMES POTTER, DIE IN A _CAR CRASH_? IT'S AN OUTRAGE! A SCANDAL!" Harry –" he turned to Harry, "don' believe a _word_ o' what they've told yeh about yer parents. Not one _word_. Nor what they've told you about _you_ , neither! Yer - "

"STOP!" shrieked Aunt Petunia. Everyone turned to stare at her. She was shaking. "Stop … just – don't –" she turned to look at Dudley, as though she did not want him to hear any of this. She started to cry, shaking harder.

"Petunia …" said Uncle Vernon. He looked defeated, but also (to Harry's surprise) slightly relieved. "Petunia, there's nothing we can do, dear … It was never going to work. It's better if they know the truth. "

Aunt Petunia was now shaking and crying so violently she was leaning on the door for support. Harry was flabbergasted. In all his years at Privet Drive, he had never seen his aunt shed a single tear. He could not match up this hysterical Aunt Petunia with the woman he had known all his life.

"Harry," said Hagrid, who seemed to have finally calmed down, "yer –"

"A _WIZARD_!" shrieked Aunt Petunia. Tears were now streaming down her face, and her face was red with rage.

"What?" Harry said. He looked at his cousin, who was staring at Aunt Petunia, looking broken-hearted. "But Dudley's the wizard, not –"

"Of _course_ you are. Of course her _perfect_ little son is a _wizard_! Even after she was _dead_ , blown up in her _own house_ – because Lily couldn't have died in anything less than a spectacle, oh _no_! – she had to leave me with _you_ , a reminder of what – of what I could never –", she stopped, shook her head, and continued, "I knew you were going to turn out the _same_ as your parents always thinking _so much_ of yourself. I … went to our family home before our parents died, and … and I got everything I could find that she'd left there from her days at that … that _school_. All the books, and that _Quidditch_ ball …", she said the word 'Quidditch' as though there were a bad taste in her mouth, "I thought if I taught Dudley and not you, then, if you never knew … then he might … he could go and you'd … stay."

"NO!" shouted Dudley, who had, apparently, just now realised what his mother was saying about Harry. "NO! Stop it, Mum! Stop it! It's _me_ , not him! _I'm_ the wizard, it's not _him_!" His eyes were shining with tears too, now.

Uncle Vernon was standing next to both of them, staring at his wife with a slightly disgusted expression. He also, Harry thought, looked as though he had never pitied anyone more in his life.

Aunt Petunia nodded at Dudley's words, and turned to smile at her son through her tears. "Yes, you too, Dudders – don't worry." She smoothed his hair affectionately. "Don't worry, you're still – you're still a wizard, darling –"

"No." Growled Hagrid.

Petunia's head snapped towards Hagrid. She was no longer crying.

"Yes he is!" She spat, angrily. "Dumbledore said, in his letter. The postscript said Harry wasn't the only one going to Hogwarts!"

Hagrid laughed. "Yer mad." He pointed at Dudley with a finger as long as a cucumber. "This one, come teh Hogwarts? Biggest muggle I've ever seen! No. Dumbledore sent me for Harry, and Harry alone."

There was a silence. Then –

"NO!" shouted Petunia and Dudley at the same time.

"WAIT!" shouted Harry. Everyone turned to look at him. He was trying to put everything together. "So … I'm a wizard? And Dudley is … what did you call him? A _muggle_? What does that … ? And … both my parents were wizards, too? And they … they got _blown_ up? What … what does that mean?"

Hagrid looked at Harry, sadly, seemingly not knowing what to say. Dudley was blubbering. Aunt Petunia was trying to calm him down, still glaring angrily at Hagrid.

Uncle Vernon suddenly cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, decisively. "Let's … let's go. Petunia. Dudley. To Marge's. We'll come back in an hour. Come on."

With one wary glance back at Hagrid, he shooed his family out of the door. Harry could hear Dudley's wails of misery and anger disappearing down the road.

His head was still spinning.

"Hagrid …" he said, "I don't understand. I … don't understand anything."

Hagrid sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "Blimey …" he mumbled, seemingly to himself. But then he smiled, and patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Righ', why don't I make some tea, and we'll 'ave a nice chat, eh?"

He shepherded Harry into the living room, and pointed his umbrella at the Dursley's fireplace. It sprang to life immediately. He pulled a kettle out of his large overcoat, which Harry could tell was already full with water from the sloshing sound that was emanating from it, and placed it upon the fire. It seemed to float unaided in the middle of the fireplace, just above the flames.

Hagrid smiled at Harry's expression of wonder, and said, "levitatin' kettle. Quite useful for campin' n' that. Got it at Diagon Alley."

He seemed to frown at his own words. "But then … maybe yeh don't know about Diagon Alley yet?" He looked at Harry, who shook his head. Hagrid's cheeks puffed out as he gave a large exhale.

"Look," he said, "why don' you tell me everythin' they –" he jerked his head towards the front door "– told you, an' I can tell you everythin' yeh don't know." He poured Harry a cup of tea and gave it to him on a saucer, along with a teaspoon and a couple of slightly hairy biscuits (all of which he seemed to procure from his giant overcoat), and Harry began to tell him all that he knew. He told him about Aunt Petunia informing him and his cousin at age nine about Dudley being a wizard, about Dudley's wand, Aunt Petunia's lessons with his mother's books, and even the tiny, golden Quidditch ball.

Hagrid's frown deepened as Harry talked, and by the time Harry was nearly finished telling him everything, he was visibly agitated. When Harry stopped talking, Hagrid exhaled again.

"S'all wrong, Harry. At least, most of it. I knew they wouldn't know _loads_ about the wizarding world, bein' muggles an' that – non-wizards, that means – but I never thought they'd outrigh' _lie_ to yeh. Truth of it is, yer a wizard, yer cousin's not. The wand's probably somethin' they got from a muggle shop. S'definitely not real. The books'd be no use to a muggle, neither, and a muggle could never teach magic! Those lessons were complete rubbish. That ball yer talkin' about – s'called a 'snitch'. But yeh'll learn about all that later. First, I need to give yeh this."

Hagrid put his hand into his overcoat again and pulled out a letter. He gave the letter to Harry. The address was written in green ink.

 _Mr Harry Potter_

 _The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

 _No. 4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

With shaking fingers, Harry opened the letter. It read:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

There was a second page which listed school uniform, course books and other equipment, but Harry was feeling quite dizzy again now, so he merely scanned this page and then looked up at Hagrid.

"My … owl?" He asked, breathless.

"Oh, yeah." Hagrid said, standing up. He reached once more into his overcoat and pulled out a small, scruffy owl. It did not look bothered by the fact that it was being kept in a giant's coat. If anything, Harry thought, it looked slightly sleepy.

Hagrid scribbled a note, attached it to the owl's leg, and let it fly out of the Dursleys' living room window.

"Wizards communicate with owls. Yeh just say who you want yer letter to go to, and they'll find 'em, usually. Unless yeh've got some sort of spell to keep 'em away. I was just lettin' Dumbledore know I'd given yeh the letter."

He sat back down and smiled kindly.

Harry was still clutching his letter. His palms were sweating and he had about a thousand different questions. He decided to start with the one that was bothering him the most.

"What … happened to my parents?" he asked, swallowing his nerves. "How did they die, Hagrid?" He looked at his feet on the Dursleys' pristine, cream carpet. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Hagrid sighed. "I ... blimey, Harry. I don't know if I should be the one tellin' yeh, but .. yeh can't _not_ know ... Alrigh'." Hagrid swallowed. He seemed to be steeling himself for the task.

"Well, back when you were a baby," he said, "there was this wizard who was … the worst of 'em all. Real evil. No one was safe from him. They was dark times, Harry. Dark times. Well, yer parents were great people, and they just … I dunno, I guess he felt threatened by 'em, because when you were just a year old … he …" Hagrid sniffed, and Harry thought he saw tears in his eyes. "He … killed 'em. In yer house. It was … awful. But thas just how it was. If he wanted to kill yeh, there was nothing anyone could do for yeh. It was bad, Harry. But … thas the thing." And now Hagrid was looking at him directly in the eyes. "No one ever got away from 'im. Not one person … 'Cept you. He wanted to kill you, too. But he couldn' do it. Somethin' happened. He jus' … well, no one knows, 'cause he disappeared, didn' he? He tried to kill you, and then he disappeared. No one's seen him since. An' he didn' leave a mark on yeh. Apart from …"

Hagrid pointed at Harry's forehead. Harry's hand went to his head. _It wasn't a car_ , Harry thought, remembering his younger self scanning the interior of Uncle Vernon's Ford Focus for a lightning-bolt shaped object, trying to find out what car part had given him his scar. _It never was._

With his hand still touching his forehead, Harry looked at Hagrid. "What was his name?" he whispered.

Hagrid shook his head. "We don' say it. No one does. We say 'You-Know-Who', if we need to talk abou' him."

"Please," said Harry, "I need to know."

Hagrid closed his eyes. "Alrigh', but … just once. His name is …" Hagrid gulped again, and then said, "his … name is Sirius Black." Hagrid shivered. "Don't make me say it again!"

 _Sirius Black_ … Harry thought. _My parents' murderer …_

He mulled over the name in his head. They both sat in silence, the fire crackling beside them.

A few moments later, there was once more a jangling sound from the front door.

Hagrid quickly muttered something, and the fire beside them went out. They both stood up to face the front door.

The Dursleys came in tentatively, slowly, Uncle Vernon brandishing his keys in front of him like a weapon.

Hagrid cleared his throat, and Uncle Vernon jumped.

"What – are you still here?" Uncle Vernon asked, surprised.

"We were jus' leavin', weren't we Harry?" Hagrid said, loudly.

Harry looked at him, perplexed.

Hagrid winked at him and whispered, "go pack yer stuff, I'm gonna take you away for a couple o' days to get yer school stuff and get yeh away from this lot fer a while."

Harry nodded, and went over to his cupboard. He didn't look at the Dursleys, who were still standing by the door.

He packed his pillow (after checking for spiders), a few clothes, and his toothbrush into a plastic bag, and joined Hagrid again in the living room.

"Righ' then, Harry, shall we go?" Hagrid asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. He walked towards the Dursleys.

"Er … Bye, then," he said, awkwardly.

Uncle Vernon said nothing. Aunt Petunia was not looking at him.

However, it was not his aunt and uncle's expressions that drew his gaze. Dudley was staring at him with an expression of pure loathing.

Harry was discomfited. He had seen Dudley look angry, spiteful, frustrated, had even seen him in the middle of a screaming tantrum, but he had never seen him look like this. Dudley seemed to be wearing someone else's face. He was looking at Harry like he wanted nothing more than to utterly destroy him. His eyes were locked on Harry's. They were hard, and seemed to flash with anger.

Harry looked away, uncomfortable, and then saw something out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey!" He said, pointing, "Hagrid, it's that owl!"

The owl Hagrid had sent to Dumbledore had returned, and was sitting outside of the living room window, clutching a latter in its talons. Hagrid went over to let it inside. He reached towards the owl to take the letter, but it flew past him, and dropped the letter between Harry and the Dursleys.

Harry reached down to take it, and then paused.

He read the address on the letter, written in green ink.

His stomach lurched.

 _Mr Dudley Dursley_

 _The Downstairs Hallway_

 _No 4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

 _Hey All! Hope you enjoyed that chapter! A couple of things:_

 _1) I copied the Hogwarts letter from the HP Wiki – I did not write it. I thought it was the most convenient thing to do!_

 _2) Here we say hello to Sirius, who obviously has a very different role here than in canon! I am playing around with MANY of the characters, so people may not end up being who/how you might expect them to be – however characterisation is very important to me, so I am trying to keep the same 'feel' of everyone! Keep in mind not to judge people before you know them …_

 _Thanks for all your support, means a lot! The next chapter should be up in about a week._


	4. Chapter 4 - One Becomes Four

_Hey all! Just a couple of things I want to stress:_

 _This is NOT going to be a Dudley-heavy novel. In fact, this is one of the last times you'll see him_ **.** _He's there to set up other stuff that shall be revealed later!_ _;)_

 _Thanks to everyone who has given feedback. Please do let me know what you think, and what you think is going to happen! Who is the Man Who Lived?_

 **Chapter 4 – One Becomes Four**

Four weeks had passed since Dudley had received his letter, and Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Harry were now standing between platform nine and ten at King's Cross Station.

Harry's birthday had ended much more pleasantly than it had begun. After a few moments of stunned silence, Uncle Vernon had wordlessly left the house. Then, after a quiet conversation with Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, Hagrid had agreed to take both boys to London to get their school things.

He had taken a wide-eyed Harry and a solemn Dudley around Diagon Alley, a wizarding street lined with shops that stretched from end to end, all different, and all – to Harry's mind – as mind-boggling as each other.

The street had been crammed with bustling witches and wizards, and Harry had bought (with a surprising amount of money waiting for him in Gringotts, the wizarding bank) wizarding robes, a cherry wood wand, school books, a cauldron, scales, some quills and ink, parchment, and – best of all – a midnight-black owl, with bright green eyes. He had picked the owl out because it had reminded him of himself – her feathers were even permanently ruffled, just like his hair. He had named the owl Gelda.

Dudley had been white-faced throughout the whole trip to Diagon Alley. After exchanging his muggle money for wizard coins, he had gone from shop to shop with Harry and Hagrid, had purchased his wand, school clothes, books and other items, and had even picked out a greeny-brown toad, which he had (in a quiet mumble, many days later) said was called 'Tod'.

Uncle Vernon had not returned to no. 4 Privet Drive in the month that had followed. Aunt Petunia had spent much of her time on the phone, and the rest of her time crying. Both Harry and Dudley had kept away from her. Dudley had also kept his distance from Harry, which had suited Harry perfectly. He spent his time poring over the schoolbooks that he had longed for for so long, and examining every millimetre of his real wand, which looked nothing like the fake wand Aunt Petunia had bought for Dudley. _I'm going_ , he kept saying to himself. _I'm going to Hogwarts._

Now, four weeks later, both Harry and Dudley were standing with luggage trolleys filled with suitcases, Gelda's cage, and Tod's tank. Before he'd left them four weeks ago, Hagrid had told Harry and Dudley that, to get to their platform (Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters), they needed to run into the ticket barrier between platforms nine and ten.

Harry stood on the platform, looking at the ticket barrier. He had butterflies in his stomach. How on _earth_ was he going to run at the ticket barrier without crashing into it? Now he thought about it, Hagrid hadn't told him what would happen when he did run at it. Was he supposed to say a spell, or wave his wand as he ran?

He started to panic. He didn't know any magic yet – surely he wasn't supposed to _do_ any? He turned to Dudley, to ask him what his opinion was, but Dudley was pointedly not looking at him. He had not forgiven Harry for being a wizard, nor had he forgiven Harry for Hagrid saying that Dudley could not be a wizard.

Harry turned to his aunt.

"Aunt Petunia – I think we have to run towards the ticket barrier. Hagrid told me that we did, but I'm not sure – wait!" He had suddenly had a thought. "You can show us what to do, right? You must have come here with … with …", but his sentence trailed off as he saw his aunt's angry glare.

" _Show_ you?" She spat at him. Her eyes were red. She had been crying that morning. "Do you think I can get … get through _there_?" She turned to glare at the ticket barrier, before turning back to Harry.

"Only witches and wizards can get onto the platform," she said, sniffing. "That … man didn't even _think_ to tell you that, I suppose?"

"Oh … no." Hagrid hadn't told him that.

"But … but Mum, how … how do I go to Hogwarts?" Dudley's face was reddening, and he was gripping his luggage trolley handle so hard that his knuckles were white.

Aunt Petunia's expression melted instantly. She beamed sweetly at him.

"Don't worry, Dudley darling! I … well, I do know how to get through, even if I can't show you. I used to watch … well, I've seen it done before. All you do is run at the ticket barrier, darling, go through, and then there's a big red train right in front of you. You just have to get on it, find a compartment and you'll be at Hogwarts before you know it!"

Dudley looked up at her, with tears in his eyes. He looked like he was steeling himself to ask her a final question before he departed. Harry thought he knew what it was, and he suddenly didn't want to be in earshot.

"Mum." Said Dudley, "Where is he? Where's Dad?" He stared pleadingly into her eyes.

She didn't answer, but pulled him into her arms and gave him a long hug. Harry thought he could see her shaking. She eventually peeled herself away from her son, kissed him on the cheek, and pushed him encouragingly towards the ticket barrier.

"Go on." She said, softly. "Before _him_." She glared again at Harry. Her eyes looked like they were full of tears.

Dudley, still red-faced, started to run at the ticket barrier as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. Tod started croaking frantically. His luggage began rattling in the trolley as it swayed side to side. Dudley was getting closer and closer to the barrier, now. He was ten feet away – five – three – one foot away – and then he was gone. He had disappeared behind the barrier.

Harry stood there, gobsmacked. But before he could say or do anything, he heard a large sigh from Aunt Petunia. She had closed her eyes, and her face held an expression Harry was unable to read.

"I hope you're watching." She whispered.

Harry had a feeling she wasn't talking to him. She turned on her heel and walked away from him without saying another word. Harry was slightly taken aback that she had left him there alone in the middle of the station, but decided not to be too bothered by it. He knew how to get onto the platform, and the world of magic – the world of his _parents_ – was waiting for him on the other side of the ticket barrier.

"Ready?" He asked Gelda, smiling.

She clicked her beak, and he took that as a 'yes'.

Taking a deep breath, he started running towards the ticket barrier. Gelda seemed to shrink into herself, as if she were trying to hold on for dear life. The ticket barrier came closer and closer, and then, with a _whoooosh_ , he was through. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and looked around him.

It was the best sight he'd ever seen. Tens – maybe hundreds – of witches and wizards were on the platform. They were chatting, laughing, kissing, hugging, crying – some were even arguing. In front of them all was a large red steam train, with the words 'Hogwarts Express' in glistening gold font on the front.

He beamed. This was it. This was his world, now.

He scanned the length of the train for an open door, and saw his cousin's trunk disappearing into one of the carriages. He looked for a different carriage. He had decided a couple of weeks ago that he and his cousin should give each other space at Hogwarts. They had spent almost the entirety of their lives forced together, living under one roof. They deserved their own lives here.

He saw a scruffy-looking, red-haired boy enter one of the compartments, and decided that he looked nice enough to spend the duration of the train ride with. Hurrying over to the door the boy had just gone through, he heaved his luggage and Gelda's cage up onto the train, and looked for the boy. He had been just in time – as soon as his luggage was on the train, the doors closed, a whistle blew, and the train departed.

He found the boy in the third compartment along, and opened the door.

"Hi," he said, smiling at the boy, "is it okay if I sit in here?"

"Yeah, of course," said the boy, gesturing to the seat opposite him. Harry sat down, and put Gelda on the seat next to him. She had fallen asleep under her wing.

"Harry Potter." Harry said, sticking out his hand.

The boy's ears went pink. "Ron," he said. "Ron Weasley."

He then went completely quiet, and turned to look out of the window, not saying anything else to Harry. Harry deflated slightly. His first attempt at making a wizard friend – his first attempt at making _any_ friend, in fact – had failed. He looked at Gelda, hoping that he could pretend to be busy with her, but she was still asleep.

Before he could turn back to Ron and try another attempt at a conversation, however –

BANG!

The compartment door slammed open. Harry jumped and Gelda, woken by the noise, squawked in alarm. Harry made shushing noises, attempting to calm her down, but then he heard an "ow!" coming from Ron's direction, and looked over.

A red-headed girl was standing over his new acquaintance, her fist raised. Ron was rubbing his head, scowling.

"How _could_ you not tell me immediately, Ronald!" the girl was shouting. She was waving her fist now. "You know _I_ would have told you _as soon as_ I found out! IT'S HARRY POTTER! You promised!"

"I knew you'd find out anyway, when you get excited you scan my mind every five seconds –"

"Just because I know what you're thinking doesn't mean I don't have a right to-"

"A right?! It's been about two seconds! He definitely doesn't want YOU gawking over him the minute he gets on the –"

"Ugh!" The girl rolled her eyes, turned away from Ron, and sat down next to him, so she was facing Harry. She looked at him eagerly, and Harry got his first proper look at her. Her hair was slightly wild, like it hadn't been combed in a few weeks, and she had a large amount of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were sparkling.

She held out her hand. "Ginny!" She said, "Ginny Weasley. This twit's twin."

Ron groaned and slumped down in his seat. "Two minutes it's been, Ginny. _Two minutes_. You could have let me have the _train ride_ to myself … "

Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at Ginny, who still had her hand outstretched.

"Sorry," he said, in a whisper full of wonder, "Did … did you say you can _read his mind?_ "

She laughed, and took her hand back. "Read? That sounds like muggle speak. No, scan. I can scan his mind. He can do mine too. Magical twin stuff." She waggled her fingers. "You can't see thoughts, per se, but you see memories and images that flash into his mind. He was thinking about seeing you in this compartment, and also the Dailey Prophet this morning." She turned to look at Ron, smugly. "It said Harry would be coming to Hogwarts this year, didn't it Ronald?"

Ron's entire face had now turned as pink as his ears.

"The Daily Prophet? Is … is that a newspaper? Am I in a newspaper?"

Ginny laughed again. "Of course! You're famous Harry Potter."

Harry's mouth fell open. _Famous?_

Before he could ask any more questions, a girl with bushy hair and rather large front teeth opened the door to their compartment and stepped inside.

"Hello." She said, curtly.

"Hi." Said Harry. "Do you want to sit down?"

She looked at him, frowning. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry nodded. "Yep. We've … er … established that." He grinned at Ginny and Ron. Ginny beamed back, and Ron gave a weak smile.

The bushy-haired girl sniffed. "Well I just tried to sit with some other people, but they wouldn't let me in. So I suppose I'll sit in here. I'm Hermione Granger."

She sat down next to Harry. Harry moved Gelda over, and had a sudden thought.

"Where are all your pets? I thought we could have an owl or a cat?"

"Or a toad." Said Hermione, nodding. "Purvel is my cat. An older girl was playing with him earlier, but I'm sure he'll be along in a minute."

Harry turned to Ginny and Ron. They looked at each other.

"Thebes." They said, gloomily.

"Who's Thebes?" asked Harry.

"Our cat. He's about a _million_ years old," said Ginny. "We have a family owl, but Thebes kind of … turned up on our doorstep one day, and Mum couldn't resist letting him in. Said he must have been _really clever_ to get past the enchantments that keep most of the animals away from our house. He's mine and Ron's now, because we're the only ones he doesn't hiss at."

"Where is he?" asked Hermione.

Ron pointed up to the luggage shelves above. A nearly hairless, wrinkled cat with one brown eye sat on a faded red blanket. He growled as they all turned to look up at him.

"It's alright, Thebey," said Ginny, softly. He squinted at her, yawned, and settled down to sleep on his blanket.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Ginny pretends she hates him, but he's like her baby." Ginny punched him lightly on the head.

"Oh but he _is_ cute," said Hermione, smiling up at Thebes.

"Are you from a wizarding family, then?" asked Harry. He was suddenly very excited – he hadn't even thought about the fact that some wizards must have known about magic and the wizarding world their whole lives, and not just from second-hand information from Aunt Petunia.

"Yeah. Loads of wizards in our family," said Ron. "Ginny and I are the youngest of seven. We've never met a muggle properly. The wizarding population is really small, so it feels like there's loads out there we don't know about."

"Well _, I'm_ muggle-born," said Hermione, bitterly.

They all looked at her, confused by the tone of her voice.

She looked at them all, and blushed.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, "it's just … like I said, I tried to sit with some other people earlier, but they made me stop at the door. They asked me who my parents were. When they found out I was muggle-born they … made me leave." She looked down at her hands.

Ginny looked sympathetic, and Ron looked disgusted.

"Don't worry about that," Ginny said, kindly, "most people aren't like that at Hogwarts. Or in the magical world as a whole. It's the minority, I promise. Some people have old-fashioned ideas about how the world works. I think muggle stuff is really interesting – no honestly!" she said, after a sceptical look from Hermione. "Our dad's obsessed with the stuff. In fact … can you tell me how aeroplanes stay up? Is that something muggle kids know? It would make my dad's _year_ if I could tell him that!"

Hermione brightened instantly at Ginny's obviously genuine excitement, and began to explain about the shape of aeroplane wings. She even brought out a quill, parchment, and some ink, and drew a diagram which Ginny folded carefully and put in her pocket.

After this explanation about an element of the muggle world, Harry began to ask all sorts of questions about the wizarding world. To Harry's surprise, the muggle-born Hermione could answer just as many questions as the wizard-born Ginny and Ron. Before long, he knew about all the subjects they taught at Hogwarts, about Quidditch, about chocolate frogs (Ron happened to have one in his pocket), and moving pictures (Ginny had a copy of the Daily Prophet with her). He even knew the names of all the Hogwarts houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. It was more than Aunt Petunia had ever known – he was sure of that.

"Slytherin's where the people you met will be, Hermione," said Ginny.

"Yeah," said Ron, "They all think that pure wizarding blood is best. They're all evil. All the wizards that have ever gone bad are in Slytherin."

"Well, all except –" Hermione stopped herself, and glanced at Harry.

Harry's stomach lurched. He thought he knew who she was talking about.

"Sirius Black?" he asked.

Suddenly the whole compartment was quiet. Ginny, who had been distractedly playing with Gelda while they talked, stopped and looked at Ron nervously. He returned her gaze, looking just as worried. The silence lasted for a few long moments. Then Hermione spoke.

"Well … yes." She said in a quiet voice. "He was a Gryffindor."

"But …" Harry thought back to the conversation they'd just had. "That's the house for the brave, and the … 'pure of heart' and everything!"

Hermione grimaced. "The sorting hat isn't always right."

Ginny stood up quickly. "Come on," she said. "It's getting dark. We'll be there soon. Let's get changed into our robes."

The rest of them stood up and they all took out their robes. Hermione and Ginny went to find an empty compartment to change in, and Ron stayed to help Harry. After a couple of confused minutes, Harry figured out how to clasp his robes on properly and how to wear his wizard's hat so that it wouldn't fall off. As soon as Harry had figured out how to wear his hat, however, Ron took it off his head.

"No one wears these," said Ron, "it's old-fashioned. We'll wear them for the final feast of the year, but otherwise keep it off if you don't want your head kicked in." He grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back.

"Thanks," he said.

Ron suddenly took a deep breath, and, looking at his shoes, asked, "Do you really have a scar? Do you remember anything about Sirius Black? Do you know why you didn't die?" He looked sheepish, as if he had realised he had asked too many questions.

Harry laughed. He was glad the question was finally out. If he was really famous, then he would have to get used to the question, and he was glad that Ron was the first person to ask.

"Yes, no, and no," he said. He lifted up his hair so that Ron could see the scar on his forehead.

Ron eyes widened slightly, but then he looked at Harry and nodded, satisfied.

"Cool." He said. And there was such a tone of finality and acceptance in his voice, that Harry knew that Ron would never ask him about his scar or his parents' death again. Harry knew, without a doubt, that they were now friends. He suddenly felt a rush of warmth and gratitude towards Ron.

They sat down again, and waited for Hermione and Ginny to return.

Harry's heart was bursting with happiness. He had three new friends, and had fit in with them with such ease that it had been no effort at all. And _Ron_ … Ron was the best of them all.

As the train started to slow down, Hermione and Ginny returned. They all sat in silent excitement and anticipation.

Harry beamed at his new friends. He was sure – more sure than he had been of anything in his life – that all three of them were going to be in Gryffindor.

 _Well, that's it, guys - see you in about a week! Please do let me know what you think, I love hearing your thoughts :)_


	5. Chapter 5 - Figure, Foe & Founders

_Author's note: Hi all! Hope you enjoy. I think this has been my favourite one to write so far!_

 _If you're confused by the hat's song, there's an explanation of the story at the end!_

 _Please leave a review, I love hearing your thoughts!_

 _Happy reading!_

 _ **Chapter 5 – The Figure, the Foe, and the Fable of the Founders**_

When the Hogwarts Express pulled to a stop, the four new friends exited the train and immediately pulled their robes over their heads. The rain was coming down as fiercely as Harry had ever experienced, and he felt soaked to the bone almost immediately. Hermione had found Purvel further up the train, being fed treats by a third-year Ravenclaw. He and Thebes were to remain on the train for now, and would be taken up to the castle separately with the rest of the luggage. Harry had been hesitant to leave Gelda, but Ginny and Ron had assured Harry that their luggage and their pets would be brought inside safely.

"FIRS' YEARS!" called a gruff voice through the deafening howl of the wind and rain. Harry recognised the speaker immediately, and with an encouraging nod to his friends, he moved in the direction the voice had come from.

Spotting Hagrid, Harry smiled and waved. The giant's long hair and beard were drenched with water, and he was holding a large lantern up in front of him. The lantern held a startlingly blue flame, which seemed to tinge everyone around it a faint lilac colour. Though it was being whipped around by the wind, it stayed bright, burning defiantly.

Hagrid beamed down at Harry. Hermione and the two Weasleys, who had all followed Harry, gaped up at Hagrid in wonder. He smiled at them, obviously flattered that they were impressed. Many of the other first years had stayed back, visibly frightened.

"HULLO!" he bellowed at them all, obviously trying to combat the roaring sound of the wind and rain, "I'M HAGRID! COME ON, DON' BE SHY! THIS WAY TO HOGWARTS!"

When all the first years had gathered around him (some more hesitantly than others, Harry noticed), Hagrid led them towards a cobbled path that seemed to twist and turn into the darkness.

"WE USUALLY TAKE THE BOATS," shouted Hagrid, "BUT THE GIANT SQUID LIKES TO COME UP TO THE SURFACE IN THIS WEATHER, AN' IT'S BEST TO LEAVE 'IM TO IT. THIS WAY, THEN!"

They all followed Hagrid along the cobbled path, which was slippery and uneven. The blue flame gave enough light to help them along, but it was dark enough that they were unable to see their surroundings on either side of the path, which made Harry feel slightly uneasy.

"HOW LONG DO YOU RECKON THE PATH IS?" Ron shouted to Harry, from under his soaked robes.

"WHAT?" asked Harry.

They didn't attempt any more conversation. The wind and rain battered them relentlessly as they walked, and Harry could see that his friends were as cold and miserable as he was. He was glad he hadn't had to make the journey with Gelda and his luggage.

They were about ten minutes into their journey when there was a sudden, blinding light and a loud CRACK of thunder. Almost everyone around Harry jumped, and Hermione gave a little yelp of surprise and slipped over. Ginny turned immediately to help her up. Harry, however, was not paying attention.

He had stopped in his tracks, and was staring fixedly to the left of the path. His mouth had fallen open. In the split second of lightning, the area around them had been completely lit up, and he had been able to see that the path they were on was surrounded by a thick forest, the trees waving wildly in the wind and rain.

This was not what had shocked him, however. In the midst of the trees, he had seen … _someone_.

 _Who_ he had seen, he couldn't have said. He'd not been able to make out the features of the face – the lightning had only lit the figure for a split second – but he was absolutely sure he _had_ seen someone.

Had it been a teacher, perhaps? But … surely a teacher would have approached them all? Plus – and, even as he considered what he had seen, he was already doubting himself – he had been sure for that split-second that the figure had been … _staring_ … straight at him. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

He kept walking, looking around every few minutes to try and peer into the darkness of the forest on either side of him. He could see nothing, however. The first-years kept on, stumbling now and then on the path. Eventually the wind and rain reduced to a quiet patter, and they were able to hold conversations again.

Harry, having become separated from his friends after seeing the figure, stopped to try and find them in the crowd.

Something large and heavy bumped into him, hard. Harry lost his balance, fell over, and landed painfully on the cobbled path. Covered in mud and rubbing his aching ribs, he got up and turned to whatever had bumped into him, a swear ready to leave his lips.

He saw Dudley's stony face staring back at him, and his voice died in his throat. They stared at each other. Mud was dripping from Harry's sleeve. Dudley's hair had been plastered to his face by the rain. He searched Dudley's face for some level of amity. He found none.

"Harry!" said Hermione, rushing over. "Are you alright? I fell over, too – it's so slippery here! I wish we could have gone on the boa-"

She stopped as she saw Dudley's expression. She turned to Harry, clearly confused. No one said anything. Hesitantly, almost imperceptibly, she moved to stand a fraction in front of Harry, as if trying to protect him.

"Oh _dear_ ," said a voice from behind Dudley. A boy with white blond hair appeared at his cousin's shoulder. "Getting in the way, are we?" he said, sneering at Hermione, "We haven't even got to the castle yet. But then, I'm not sure what I expected from _your_ kind…"

"Oh, go _away_ ," said Hermione, who had turned red at the sight of the blond-haired boy, and was now furiously brushing Harry down, "you made it perfectly clear on the train earlier that you're a bigot. We don't want anything to do with you."

The boy smirked, and looked Harry up and down. "Who's this, your _boyfriend_?"

Dudley chuckled at this. Harry glared at him.

"Dudley here and I are trying to get to the castle," said the boy, passing Dudley and walking towards Harry casually, his hands in the pockets of his robes. He faced Harry. He was so close that they were practically nose to nose. "Are you going to be in the way _all_ evening?" he whispered, the smirk still on his face.

"Go ahead," Harry said, coolly, as he moved out of the way. "Scared of the dark, are you?"

The boy's eyes flashed with anger. "You-"

"OI!" said Hagrid from the front of the group, which was now quite a way ahead of them. "Come on, you lot! We'll all drown if we don' get there soon!"

The boy sneered at them again, and beckoned Dudley to follow him. Hermione and Harry made sure they walked a way behind them.

"They were the boys on the train," said Hermione, in a low voice. "The ones that made me leave their compartment, I mean. The big one doesn't say much, but they made it clear that they don't want to associate with anyone from a muggle household."

Harry frowned at her, bemused. "What? But … the big one – I mean – the one that didn't say anything – that was my cousin. Neither of his parents are wizards. We grew _up_ together. With muggles!"

She looked at him, shocked. "But … that blond boy was going _on and on_ about his wizard ancestry, and seems to think your cousin is from a wizarding family too." She paused for a second, thinking. "Do … do you think your cousin lied to him? Maybe he said he was … you know, like him?"

Harry thought about it. He thought about Dudley's expression when he had learned that Harry was a wizard. He thought about Dudley's expression a few moments ago. "I wouldn't put it past him," he said. "He hates me. He thought he was a wizard and I wasn't for _ages_ – it's a long story," he said, as he saw Hermione's confusion. "Maybe he just wants to make sure he's friends with people who'd never associate with me." Harry sighed. "It's for the best, probably. We don't get along. But – wait!" he suddenly interrupted himself, heart pounding, as he remembered what had happened just minutes before.

"Did you see that person back there? Standing in the trees?" He asked Hermione, eagerly.

"No," Hermione said, distracted now. She was scanning the heads of the crowd in front of them. "Look – Ron and Ginny are right at the front. We should catch up, they'll wonder where we are."

Harry nodded, disappointed, but decided to drop the topic for now, and picked up his pace. Soon he and Hermione had made their way through the other first years to the front. They had avoided Dudley and the blond boy.

"There you are!" said Ginny, looking relieved. "We were about to ask Hagrid to stop!"

The four friends walked the rest of the journey to the castle together. Hermione told Ginny and Ron about their encounter with Dudley, and Harry told all three of them about Dudley's upbringing as a wizard, and what had happened on his birthday in July. They were all horrified at his relatives' treatment of him, and resolved to keep an eye on Dudley just in case. Harry kept the sighting of the figure to himself, deciding that now was not the moment to discuss it, and the conversation moved on. Soon they were all laughing at an impression Ginny and Ron were doing of their mother.

After another ten minutes, they finally arrived a pair of large oak front doors.

Hagrid knocked his umbrella loudly on the wood, and the doors swung open. Grateful to be in the warm and dry, the first years piled into a large front hall.

"I'm to take yeh straigh' in!" Hagrid told them, "for yer sortin'! We're a bit late 'cause o' the storm. Come on then!"

And before they had had time to do anything other than ogle at the large, ornate architecture and the many paintings whose subjects were waving and smiling at them, Hagrid had led them through another (though slightly smaller) pair of oak doors, and into a large hall.

An immediate burst of chatter and laughter hit them like a wave as they entered. They followed Hagrid up the centre of the hall, and Harry took in the wonderous details of the room. There were four long tables, at which sat hundreds of Hogwarts students. The ceiling above him looked like the sky outside, but the rain stopped a long way before the students' heads, disappearing into thin air. Sparkling, colourful bunting framed the walls, moving in a non-existent wind. In front of them was a top table, at which sat a number of smiling adult witches and wizards. In front of this sat a small stool, and on this stool, a raggedy, crumpled hat.

"The sorting hat!" whispered Hermione, her eyes sparkling.

An elderly man with golden spectacles, an extremely long beard and incredibly straight posture stood up from his chair at the centre of the top table. Immediately, there was silence.

"Welcome, one and all, to Hogwarts. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I shall not keep you, as I am sure everyone is eager to fill their bellies and flop onto their beds. So – let the sorting begin!" He sat down again.

As soon as Dumbledore had taken his seat, the sorting hat perked up immediately, and began to sing:

 _A thousand years ago,_

 _When I was but mere cloth,_

 _A man sat at his table,_

 _In his cauldron a difficult broth._

 _Then came just one quick knock,_

 _At his ligneous front door,_

 _It changed his life and – oh yes – mine,_

 _The knock of Godric Gryffindor._

" _Why, Salazar Slytherin," said this man,_

" _I am pleased to meet your acquaintance,"_

" _Please come in," said Salazar,_

 _But "No," said the man, "Have patience,"_

" _I cannot come in, for yet we have_

 _Two others to wait for,_

 _That loyal Helga Hufflepuff,_

 _And that wise witch Ravenclaw."_

" _But why have you come?" asked Salazar,_

 _As they stood there, jovially._

" _I have a query to ask," said Godric,_

" _Of all of you so gifted three."_

" _Pray tell," said Salazar, eyes in glint,_

 _And Godric said, "We four,_

 _Are the most gifted in all the land,_

 _And together our triumph shall soar."_

" _You at potions, I at spells,_

 _And Hufflepuff at magical flora,_

 _Ravenclaw with her so plentiful books,_

 _Has of us the most clever aura._

 _Godric explained all of his plans,_

 _And Salazar's eyes grew wide,_

 _There was an ambition within his heart,_

 _That he was not able to hide._

 _So before the four became such good friends,_

 _Slytherin tried (in his greed),_

 _To bribe Gryffindor with fine cloth,_

 _The most magical that can be._

" _Here," he said, fashioning a hat,_

" _This cloth is most difficult to find,_

 _It shall last a thousand years or more,_

 _Let us leave the others behind."_

" _Surely we," said that Slytherin,_

" _Can beat easily the other two?_

 _We shall prevail, most powerful of all,_

 _Godric, what say you?"_

 _Godric took me from Salazar's hands,_

 _And placed me on his head,_

" _No, my friend," he said, to him,_

" _Let us all be together instead."_

" _We are the most powerful!" said the first,_

" _Such abilities have I and you."_

" _I take this gift," said the second man,_

" _To remind us we are four, not two."_

 _On Godric's head I then sat,_

 _As the other two founders arrived,_

 _And then such friends the four became,_

 _And such wonders they contrived._

 _But before this hall was built,_

 _Before any of Hogwarts was founded,_

 _This gift was received, I, alone,_

 _To ensure each of the four stayed grounded._

 _Indeed, before I became a sorter,_

 _And placed you students all,_

 _I was a reminder from Godric to Salazar_

 _Of his greed, his ambition and gall._

 _So put me on, and we shall see,_

 _Where each of your strengths lie._

 _Whether you are brave or cunning, smart or loyal,_

 _The Hogwarts Sorting is nigh._

Everyone (with the exception of the bewildered first-years) cheered and clapped, and then a thin-lipped witch in emerald-green robes stood up from beside Dumbledore. She left the table to stand beside the stool and the hat, and proceeded to call out the names of the first-years.

One by one, the first-years sat down onto the stool and were placed in one of the four houses. Harry, though extremely intrigued by the talking hat in front of him, had found his mind and his eyes wandering during the hat's long song, and now found he couldn't keep himself focused on the sorting. He was looking at the top table, which (he had now figured out) was where the teachers sat. There didn't seem to be anyone missing from any of the chairs. Did this mean that the figure he had seen wasn't a teacher at Hogwarts? Were there any other members of staff? Ron and Ginny had mentioned a grumpy caretaker, but somehow this didn't fit in Harry's mind.

Harry was in the middle of a train of thought about the figure when –

"DURSLEY, DUDLEY!"

Harry's head whipped round to look at the stool. Dudley was walking towards the hat, white-faced. Fists clenched, he sat down. The stool gave a loud creak, and there were a few giggles from the crowd. He scowled down at his hands. The hat was silent for a few moments, then –

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted.

Dudley's eyes were momentarily wide with shock, but then his face split into a smile of relief and happiness.

Harry's face had not split into a smile. He was incredibly taken aback. He glanced over at Ron, Ginny and Hermione, and was relieved to see that they were shocked too.

"I thought that no muggle-borns got into Slytherin?" Harry whispered to Ron.

"I dunno." Ron whispered, frowning. "I thought so too. I've never heard of it, anyway. Maybe they changed it? We can ask my brothers, when we –"

Ron stopped. Harry knew he'd been about to say 'when we get to the Gryffindor table'. Ron and Ginny had told Harry and Hermione about all their siblings on the train, who had all, without exception, been put in Gryffindor so far. There was Bill, who was the eldest, and next Charlie, the second oldest, who had both left Hogwarts. Percy was next, who was in his fifth year, then Fred, who was in his third year, and George, who was in his second year. "They're more like twins than we are!" Ginny had said of Fred and George.

Harry knew that Ron was extremely anxious about the sorting. Ginny had been confident about her own chances, however, and had brushed off Ron's concerns. "If _I'm_ in, you've got to be!" she'd said, rolling her eyes.

"Hermione," whispered Harry, "What do you thi–"

"GRANGER, HERMIONE!"

Hermione shushed Harry quickly, and hurried to the front. She sat down on the stool with her eyes shut, whispering softly to herself. The hat seemed to chuckle, and then called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione breathed a visible sigh of relief, and joined the Gryffindor table. She sat down and was immediately patted on the back by multiple grinning older students. She looked incredibly pleased, and was blushing pink.

The sorting continued. After a few minutes, the witch called "MALFOY, DRACO!", and the blond-haired boy they'd seen on the walk up to Hogwarts sat down under the hat, smirking.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted. With a sneer in Harry's direction, Draco Malfoy went to sit down at the Slytherin table.

After a few more names, the witch called "POTTER, HARRY!".

Harry, his heart in his throat, made his way over to the front and sat down on the stool. As soon as his name had been called, whispers had started across the hall. As the hat was placed on his head, Harry tried to keep a calm expression on his face. He did not want to look at Dudley or Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table, but his eyes travelled to them as if pulled by a magnet. Dudley was not looking at him, but Malfoy's jaw had dropped open, which made him feel slightly better.

 _Interesting,_ said a voice in his head, which made him jump. _You took a lot of joy in that, you know. Watching someone you don't like have that sort of reaction._

Harry realised the hat was talking to him.

 _No, it's not like that_ , he thought, quickly.

 _Hmm. Indeed._ Said the hat, in response. _Well, where would you like to go?_

Harry thought for a moment. He knew he wanted to go to Gryffindor, but a thought nagged at him, and he couldn't help himself.

 _Where my parents went. Where did they go?_

The hat chuckled. _It depends. Would you like to go where they went, or where I'd have put them if I'd known what I do now?_

Harry's mind boggled. _What? What do you mean?_ He thought, quickly. _Where would you put them now?_

 _That is not what we are here for. We are here to place you, young Potter. Indeed, I think I know where, now. Good luck._

 _Wait–_

"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat roared. There was a loud cheer from the Gryffindor table, and the hat was taken off of Harry's head. His ears were ringing, his head was spinning, but such an immediate sense of relief had overtaken Harry as soon as the word was shouted that he had forgotten the entire conversation he had had with the sorting hat. Pleased, he sat down next to two red-headed boys that looked extremely alike, and waited for Ron and Ginny to be sorted.

It wasn't long before they were both grinning from ear to ear, joining him at the table one after the other. Not long after, piles and piles of delicious food appeared, and they all tucked in.

"You talked to the hat!" Ron was laughing though a mouthful of food at Ginny, as they both sat opposite Harry. "You were in my head, talking to the hat! You threatened it!"

Ginny grinned at him, pouring mashed potato over her gravy. "Wasn't sure it would work, but thought I'd give it a go."

Ron swallowed, still smiling, and turned to Harry. "This is excellent. We're going to be in the same dormitory. Oh – hey you two," he said, noticing the boys on Harry's left.

"This is Fred and George," Ron said, "our brothers, remember?"

Harry turned to the boys beside him. "Hi!" he said.

They grinned at him. They did indeed, Harry thought, look more like twins than Ginny and Ron.

"Well, well." said Fred.

"Well, well, well." said George.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up you two. Actually, hey–" she said, leaning in closer to them, "we were wondering – well, Ron was wondering, but anyway – can a muggle-born be put in Slytherin? We think Harry's cousin – Dudley Dursley – is pretending to be a pureblood. But he's muggle-born. And he just got put in Slytherin!"

Fred and George frowned in unison.

"Not sure," said Fred. "I don't remember it happening in my year – George?"

"Nope," said George, "though, if I'm honest, I don't go up to everyone asking them to prove their wizarding heritage. I don't think it's common, though."

"I was thinking," whispered Hermione, who was sitting on Fred and George's other side, "that I could look in the library – I've heard it's got _loads_ of books. Maybe I'll find out about a muggle-born who was put in Slytherin."

"It's not _that_ much of a massive deal, don't bother," said Harry.

"Don't worry, I was going to go as soon as possible tomorrow anyway!" Hermione said, apparently breathless with the excitement of discussing the library.

After they had eaten all they could, Dumbledore rose again and sent them off to bed. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Fred and George followed the prefects to the Gryffindor Common Room. In his weariness, he neither noticed how they got inside the common room, nor much about the room itself at all.

He had never felt more tired, or more happy, in his life. His eyelids drooping, he said goodbye to Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George and climbed the stairs to his dormitory. He and Ron, to their delight, found their luggage placed in front of two beds situated next to one another. Too tired to unpack, they put on their pyjamas and, deciding he would wait until the morning to meet the owners of the remaining beds, Harry climbed under his sheets and fell, contentedly, into a deep sleep.

 _Author's note:_

 _Summary of the Founders story for anyone confused:_

 _Gryffindor knocks on Slytherin's door. He says he wants to team up with Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, because he has big plans. Slytherin wants to just team up with him, because he thinks Gryffindor and he are the strongest. To try and bribe Gryffindor, he gives him a hat made out of really expensive magical material (note: the hat is *not* a talking thing at this point, Gryffindor puts a spell on it later)._

 _Gryffindor accepts the gift and decides to wear it as a reminder to Slytherin that they need ALL FOUR of them, and to remind Slytherin there's more to magic than what he and Slytherin can do – Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw's skills are equally as valuable. That's why Gryffindor wears the hat, and then it's meaningful that it becomes the sorting hat, because the hat represents all sorts of people with different skills coming together_

 _**** NB: If anyone would like to hear more about the founder's story, I was thinking of doing a one-shot of them. Let me know if that would appeal to you! ****_


	6. Chapter 6 - The Dream

CHAPTER 6

 _Author's note:_

 _Hello all!_

 _I guess I was just too excited to get another chapter out for you all! Here is chapter 6 :)_

 _As always, please review! I love hearing what you think of my writing, and what you think is going to happen!_

 **Chapter 6 – The Dream**

 _An owl swooped over the sleepy houses of Godric's Hollow. The night was cool and calm, and no sound could be heard except the soft buzzing of the streetlights, and the soft footfall of a cat making its way along the pavement opposite the houses._

 _A hooded figure stood at the bottom of the road, watching the cat from under his cloak. The cat reached the pavement edge, paused, looked both ways before it crossed the street, and then stepped into the road. It was nearly at the other side when it noticed the hooded man. It froze, its orange, lamp-like eyes wide as it looked at him._

 _The man smirked. Raising his wand and pointing it at the cat, he hissed a killing curse._

 _A jet of green light shot out of the end of his wand, and struck the cat squarely in the face. The cat was thrown backwards. It landed on its side, dead. He walked over and kicked it with his foot._

" _Serves you right," he whispered, sneering down at the corpse. "You should have acted your part better. What kind of cat checks to see if there are cars coming?"_

 _The man left the cat's corpse and proceeded down the road, his eyes focused on the house of his prey. His heart was beating quickly, now. He was about to achieve something great. He was about to rid himself of his most hated enemy._

 _He walked, soundlessly, up to the Potters' front gate. It swung open with a creak. He paused. After a few moments of silence, it was clear he had not been heard. He walked slowly up the garden path._

 _When he reached the front door, he pulled a knife out of the inside of his cloak. He slid the knife into the space between the door and the wall, and ran it up and down. There was a low hiss as the lock disintegrated. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the door, turned it, and pulled the door open. His heart was beating at a hundred miles an hour. He was sure he had never been so excited, so_ eager _to do something._

 _He walked along the hallway, which was lined with pictures of a red-haired woman, a man with messy, black hair and glasses, and a smiling baby boy. There was even – and at this, he gave a light chuckle – one of him, one arm round the woman, and the other around the man. The baby boy was in the woman's arms, looking up at him, laughing. He was laughing back. Every so often, the photographed version of him stuck his tongue out, and the boy seemed to laugh even harder._

 _Slowly, he reached out towards the picture in its frame. He pressed his fingers to the glass. Lily seemed to flinch as he touched it, but it was not her he was looking at. He stroked the boy's laughing face, lightly. Then, with the tips of his fingers, he pushed against the glass. He increased the pressure until, with a sharp crack, the glass split into three pieces. After a few moments, his gaze turned away from the picture, and onto the stairs in front of him. His hand fell from the picture. His fingertip, cut by the glass, left a droplet of blood on the frame._

 _He ascended the stairs. He was close, now. He walked slowly to the end of the hallway, running his bleeding finger lightly over the wallpaper as he went. The door in front of him was slightly ajar. Through the gap, he could see a cat, curled up beside the bed. He pushed the door open, lightly._

 _For a moment, he stood, watching them. They slept together, James's arm slung protectively around Lily's waist. Her hair was spread around her, her fiery curls loose on the crisp white bedding._

 _Suddenly, as if she had sensed him watching, she stirred. She raised her head, surveyed the room, and spotted him. She jolted out of bed, snatching her wand off her bedside table. Her hair whipped around her as she moved, and fell to rest messily around her shoulders as, panting, she pointed her wand at him._

 _He smiled, and pulled down his hood. He knew she did not yet know who he was. The moon was behind him, and his face was in shadow. Keeping her eyes on his, and her wand aimed at his heart, Lily reached behind her with her free hand, and, finding the bedside lamp, turned it on._

 _She squinted in the sudden light, but, as her eyes adjusted, they grew suddenly wide. They were filled with so many delicious emotions, and he savoured them all. Fear. Confusion. Anger. And – he chuckled internally – relief._

" _S-Sirius?" She stammered, in a whisper. Her emerald green eyes were searching his own. He knew she could not look away._

" _Hello, Lily," he said. He –_

Harry sat bolt upright in his bed. Sunlight was pouring in through the dormitory's window, and his heart was pounding furiously in his chest. Breathing slowly to try and calm it down, he tried to figure out what had woken him. Noticing a weight in his lap, he looked down and saw the one-eyed Thebes staring up at him, purring. He laughed softly and stroked the cat, who yawned, stretched, and wandered off down to the end of the bed.

"Thanks for waking me up," Harry whispered, bemused. Thebes was licking his paws. Settling back down on the bed, he tried to remember the dream he had been having. He had definitely been _having_ a dream. But … what had it been about? He screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. _Think, Harry, think._ He lay there for a few minutes, willing it to come back to him. But, in the end, he had to accept that it was gone. Sighing, he decided to get up. He was in the middle of putting on his socks when he heard a yell from Ron.

"ARGH!" Ron's red mop of hair shot off his pillow, and he jumped out of bed, hopping on one foot. Harry frowned, and looked past him. Thebes was watching Ron from the bed, expectantly. "He just bit me!" Ron said, rubbing his foot.

"He woke me up, too," said Harry. "He didn't bite me, though. Maybe you're a deeper sleeper."

"Little git," Ron murmured. "I reckon it's because Mum usually feeds him in the morning. Go to the kitchen, Thebes! They'll give you breakfast there."

Thebes yawned and curled up to sleep, instead.

"You can sleep with Ginny tonight," Ron grumbled. "Honestly, I don't even know why we brought him."

But Harry wasn't listening. Three unfamiliar boys were looking at Ron and Harry, each sat in a separate four-poster bed.

"Oh," said Ron, his ears going red as he noticed the boys watching them. "Sorry. If we woke you up, I mean. I have a cat."

"That's alright!" said one of the boys, cheerfully. He was a plump boy with brown hair and a rather pale complexion. He jumped out of bed to shake Ron's hand. "I'm Neville! Oh – sorry!" He had stood on Ron's bitten foot.

Ron hid his wince. "S'alright – nice to meet you, Neville! I'm Ron."

"Seamus!" said the second boy, rather skinny and mousey-haired. He got up from his bed and grinned at Harry and Ron.

"D-D-Deeean," said the third boy, yawning as he introduced himself. He was black, with short, dark hair and braces. "Don't mind if I don't get up. Never was much of a morning person." He yawned again, and scratched his head, sleepily.

"Harry," said Harry, grinning at them all.

"Oh, we know!" said Neville, excitedly. "Loads of people were talking about it yesterday, how we were going to be sharing a room with Harry Potter–" He stopped at a look from Dean, and his face went red.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Good one, Neville. Way to make him feel like a total weirdo!"

"Oh, no – don't worry, honestly," said Harry, quickly. He didn't want Neville to feel bad about wanting to meet him. It made a nice change, he thought, after spending ten years living with people who'd tried to ignore his existence every day.

Dean turned to Harry. He was no longer sleepy. "Look," he said, "I know what it's like to be talked about behind your back – I never knew my dad and my _whole_ town used to gossip about it – so we've got your back. If anyone wants to gossip about you, we'll shut it down."

"Yeah, we will!" said Seamus, eagerness in his voice. "Neville will, too. Won't you Neville?" he said, encouragingly.

Neville nodded, still red-faced. He was looking at the ground.

Harry was taken aback by such a level of support from people he had just met, but was grateful, and so he nodded, smiling.

They all beamed at him.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right, if we're _quite_ finished promising our allegiances to Harry, I'm starving. Breakfast?"

Everyone agreed eagerly. They got dressed and soon, joking and jostling with one another, they had descended into the common room.

"Shouldn't we wait for–" Harry said, looking towards the stairs to the girls' common room as the others headed for the portrait-hole.

But Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him forwards. "Nope. My _twin_ is already at breakfast shovelling down sausages to her heart's content. Come _on_ , Harry."

"But how do you–" said Harry, momentarily confused, before remembering that Ron and Ginny, of course, always knew what the other was thinking. He hurried to catch up with the others.

Once in the great hall, they found Ginny and Hermione quickly, and joined them for breakfast. Seamus, Neville and Dean introduced themselves to the two girls, and sat down with some toast. Harry and Ron tucked into a mound of bacon and eggs each, and Ginny, who had already finished, started to feed Purvel the remains of her sausages. Hermione, however, was looking distracted, and kept straining her neck to look over at the teachers' table.

"'Ermione," said Ron, his mouth full of scrambled egg, "whas' wron'?"

Hermione turned to look at him, and cringed. "Ron, that's disgusting, don't do that. I'm … well, I'm just wondering about our timetables. I was talking to Fred and George last night, and they said that we'd get them today, at breakfast. Oh!" She turned pink as she saw the witch in the emerald-green robes, who had read out the names for the Sorting yesterday, walking over to the Gryffindor table.

Seeing the group of first-years, she glided over to them and examined them through her glasses.

"Good morning," she said, formally. "My name is Professor McGonagall. I am Head of Gryffindor House. Here are your timetables." She handed them each a piece of paper. "Do not be late for lessons. Do not hand in homework late. Do _not_ lose any house points. Good day."

She turned abruptly and walked away, her heels clicking against the stone tile floor. The first-year Gryffindors looked at each other.

"She seems friendly," said Ron, eyebrows raised.

"Nah, she's just like that," said a voice from behind Harry. Harry turned around. Fred and George were approaching with a glass of milk each. They sat either side of Hermione. George smiled at her.

"Right," said Fred, matter of factly, as he picked up Ron's timetable.

"Oi!" said Ron, making a swipe for it, "I haven't even looked at it yet!"

"Now, now," said George, taking the timetable from Fred, "we're just looking out for the twins' welfare."

"So," said Fred, taking the timetable back, "Looks like you've got Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs, then Potions with the Ravenclaws. Could be worse."

"Could be better," said George.

"Flying after lunch, though," said Fred, "that should be fun."

"Right, thanks," grumbled Ron, as he snatched his timetable back from Fred.

"With the _Slytherins_ , though," groaned Harry. "That means Malfoy and Dudley." He buttered a crumpet, miserably. Neville and Dean were now playing some a game where they threw small pieces of toast across the table into Seamus's mouth. Hermione was meticulously copying out her timetable onto a spare piece of parchment. Ron was looking grumpily at his own timetable.

"Well," said Ginny, scratching Purvel's ears, "at least you won't have to talk to them. Besides, I've been playing beater for Fred and George for years. If they're _that_ annoying, well … I can always knock them out of the air for you." Her eyes flashed, mischievously.

Harry's heart fluttered, and he felt his face grow hot. He looked sideways at Ron, worried he had noticed, but he was still scowling at his timetable. Clearing his throat, Harry stood up.

"Well," he said, his voice coming out slightly high-pitched, "I suppose we'd better get going." _Calm down_ , _you idiot!_ he told himself. _You only met her yesterday!_

Hermione immediately stood up too, quickly folding her parchment and her timetable and looking incredibly excited. "Oh, yes! We'd better. Defence Against the Dark Arts starts in twenty-five minutes, and we've never even been to the classroom before! _Hogwarts, A History_ says there's loads of trick staircases that move, and doors that are actually walls or that won't open unless you ask them in a particular way, and –"

"Don't worry, Hermione," said George, standing up too, and stretching, "Fred and I know this place like the back of our hands. We'll take you to old Lupin's classroom."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Professor Lupin," said Fred, standing up too, "he's the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. A good teacher, too. Much better than _Snape_. You'll have him for Potions. Good luck with _him_."

"No use worrying about that now, though," George said, brightly. "DADA first!"

Once everyone else had finished up, Fred and George took all seven first-year Gryffindors to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. They got there without any major hiccup, though Ron did get his foot stuck in a trick step for several minutes.

"Right!" said Fred, clapping his hands, as they arrived outside the door. "I am off to Transfiguration with our favourite Head of House."

"And I," said George, "am off to History of Magic. Toodloo, you lot."

They left together down the corridor. Harry noticed Hermione watching them go.

"Right," said Ginny, confidently walking towards the door, "let's– OUCH!"

The door opened into Ginny's nose. A sudden flash of sandy curls appeared from the other side, and tall boy with dark brown eyes jumped backwards.

"Oh – " he said, surprised, "Sorry! I didn't see you. Well, obviously. I was behind a door. Sorry. You alright?"

"She's fine," said Ron, absent-mindedly. "Doesn't hurt, really."

The boy looked at Ron, curiously. "Er – I'm glad to hear that."

"Hey, Felix!" called a voice from down the hall, "Hurry up!"

"Coming!" the sandy-haired boy called. He nodded amicably to them all, and then hurried off down the hall to join his friends.

Ginny hit Ron on the head. "You idiot. Everyone's going to think you're weird, now."

"Sorry," said Ron. "What do you want me to do? Let him think he'd hurt you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and opened the door once again. This time, no one was on the other side, and she entered. The rest of them followed.

The room looked more or less like a normal classroom to Harry. Admittedly, the décor was several hundred years' old, there were magical flying creatures flitting around the ceiling, and portraits on the walls waving to them, but there were also more recognisable objects: tables, chairs, a teacher's desk, and a worn blackboard, next to which bits of chalk were floating in mid-air. The Hufflepuffs were already sat down. As the Gryffindors took their seats, the classroom door opened once again and a run-down looking man, with grey, uneven stubble, dressed in a creased brown suit, hurried in with a stack of papers in his arms.

"Hello, hello," he said, as he put his papers down on the teacher's desk and turned to look at them all. He sounded tired, and had dark circles under his eyes. "Right, then. Welcome, all of you. My name is Remus Lupin, and I am Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. If you could turn to page 7 of your textbooks, we shall be looking at the _expelliarmus_ spell, which is an essential stepping-stone of your magical education …"

As Fred and George had said, Professor Lupin was a good teacher. He was kind to those who fell behind (like Neville, who somehow managed to singe his right eyebrow), and gave credit to those who deserved it (like Hermione, who was the first in the class to disarm her opponent, Seamus. Professor Lupin had awarded Hermione ten house points for this, and she'd beamed with pride for the rest of the lesson).

Ron had been paired with a blonde Hufflepuff girl named Jade, whose eyes were, indeed, a deep jade shade of green. She managed to disarm him multiple times before the end of the lesson, and gave a wide grin every time she did it.

Harry himself found that the spell came to him with relative ease, and before long he had disarmed Dean a good few times. After an hour, the lesson was over, and Harry left the classroom feeling rather confident.

Potions, however, destroyed any confidence that this first lesson had given him in his magical ability. Professor Snape was a cold, cruel teacher, who seemed to delight in not only giving them confusing and ambiguous instruction, but also shaming them in front of the whole class when they made an error. This affected Neville so much that instead of his potion turning into the bubbling sticky concoction of the sleeping potion they were supposed to be draughting, it burst into flame and singed his remaining eyebrow.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny spent lunch with Fred and George, which lifted their spirits after their horrendous Potions lesson. By the time they were headed down to their Flying lesson, they were feeling much better.

Harry's mood dropped again, however, once they got to the grounds. Draco Malfoy and Dudley were standing together with the other Slytherins, waiting for the lesson to begin. Malfoy sneered at Harry. Dudley ignored him. Harry decided to follow Dudley's example, and ignored both of them.

Madam Hooch, the Flying instructor, was firm, but fair. She showed them how to mount and dismount their brooms, and how to fly in a small circle. Hermione was particularly wobbly, and got off the broom as soon as she was allowed. Ginny and Ron were bored – they had been flying brooms for years – and so took it in turns to do loop-the-loops over each other. Seamus and Dean were trying to help Neville, who was having trouble getting off the ground.

Harry hardly noticed an of them. He felt … _wonderful_. The broom was like an extension of his body. It was _easy_. It was like nothing else he had ever experienced. He wove in and out of the low hoops Madam Hooch had put out for them, and Ginny and Ron cheered him on. All the stress of Potions and seeing Malfoy and Dudley disappeared whilst he was in the air. He was extremely disappointed when the lesson finished, and he had to get off his broom again.

He was so disappointed, in fact, that he was still feeling down at dinner. He poked at his roast potatoes, miserably, as Hermione talked Ginny through the sleeping draught from their Potions lesson (Hermionie had succeeded at producing it; Ginny had failed miserably). Ron was trying to fend off Purvel and Thebes from his roast lamb.

Harry could have flown _all_ afternoon and evening. Never in his _life_ had he felt the way he had on a broom. Madam Hooch had even commended him for his natural flying ability. The only person who had outflown him, in fact, had been Ginny, and Ron had told him how good _she_ was. He shoved a whole roast potato into his mouth, and choked.

Ginny patted him on the back, not looking up from the textbook she and Hermione were poring over. Harry choked even more at her touch, and sprayed potato all over Ron's roast lamb. Ron looked at him, disgruntled.

"S-sorry," Harry wheezed, coughing and spluttering.

"S'alright," said Ron, resignedly, "there was about a pint of cat drool over it anyway. Actually – it's about time anyway – c'mon," he said, eyes suddenly glinting, "Fred and George wanted to show us something." He glanced at Ginny. She looked up. For a fraction of a second, they seemed to have a mental conversation. Then they both nodded at the same time, and Ginny looked back down at the passage Hermione was pointing at. 

"C'mon," Ron whispered to Harry, pulling his arm, "she wants to figure out the potion. Hermione won't want to come to where we're going, anyway."

Harry and Ron darted out of the hall and out into the grounds. The evening was cool and calm, the moon pale in the twilight. They walked hurriedly away from the castle, towards a large thicket of trees. For five minutes they half-walked, half-ran, stumbling every so often.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, breathlessly, when he could contain his curiosity no longer.

"Forbidden Forest," Ron said, just as breathlessly, "that's where they've hidden it."

"Hidden what?" Harry asked. "Also, did you say _Forbidden_ –"

Ron grinned at him. "You'll see. And don't worry about it, students just aren't usually allowed in there, but we're not going _in_ ,"

Five minutes later, they were at the edge of the forest. Fred and George were leaning against a large tree, waiting for them.

"Alright, Harry?" asked Fred.

"Yeah," said Harry, anxiously, "er … so, what are we doing?"

"Well," said Fred.

"Well," said George.

"Ron told us about your flying abilities, Mr. Potter," said Fred.

"So," said George, taking out something from behind his back, "this is for you!"

George was holding a broomstick. Harry's heart started pounding. He looked from Fred to George and back again.

"This … this is a joke, right?"

Fred grinned. "Nope, not joking."

Harry spluttered. "But … but, how … wait, isn't that a school broom?" he asked. It looked just like the brooms that they had been using in their Flying lessons.

"Oh, no," said Fred.

"No, no, no!" said George, as if such a question was ludicrous.

"Well, yes," said Fred, " _but_ , it's out of action. There are loads of old brooms that the teachers just put into storage, see? And they're never used again, even though they can fly perfectly fine! There's some sort of regulation that means the school needs to get new brooms every five years, so the old ones are just forgotten in a cupboard."

"And _so_ ," said George, " _we_ think one should be rehomed with you."

"But … but …" said Harry, "won't I get in trouble?"

"Not if you're stealthy," said Fred, holding out the broom.

Harry turned it over in his mind. His first day. His _first day_ , and he was already potentially getting into trouble. However … he remembered again that feeling of flying, and, before he knew it, he had stuck his hand out for the broom. Beaming, the twins handed it over. Harry nodded his thanks, mounted the broom, and took off without another word.

It was wonderful. He was completely free.

He did not care that it was dark. He did not care that he had just left Fred, George and Ron behind. He didn't even care that he might be caught.

He swooped in and out of the trees, did a loop-de-loop, sped up and slowed down … he flew for ten minutes … twenty … when he went too far he simply circled back.

He had been flying for around thirty-five minutes when he saw it, outlined below him, and his breath caught in his throat. It was the figure. It was standing next to one of the trees in the forest, watching him. Time seemed to stand still. The wind that had been billowing past his ears was now completely silent. His whole body was numb. His heart was pounding in his ears. His hands were shaking.

Some sensible part of his brain tried to avert his gaze, was screaming at him to refocus on flying, but he could not take his eyes off the figure. _He needed to see who it was._ It was _so_ dark, but he _needed to see it._ If he could just squint, just focus properly, maybe he could get out his wand, cast a spell –

WHAM!

There was a roar of pain all over Harry's body, and he fell into darkness.

 _Author's note:_

 _That's all for now, folks! Please review!_

 _And I'd love to know - who do you think is the figure?_


	7. Chapter 7 - Two Decisions

_Author's note:_

 _Hey all! Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter – I've been super busy! Hopefully things should be back to normal now!_

 _As always, please do review – I love to hear your thoughts!_

 _Enjoy!_

 **CHAPTER 7 – Two Decisions**

" _S-Sirius?" She stammered, her voice no more than a whisper. Her emerald green eyes were searching his own. He knew she could not look away._

" _Hello, Lily," he said. He stepped forward._

" _Don't move," Lily hissed. Her voice told him she was angry – frightened, even – but her eyes were hesitant. Her wand, pointed directly at his heart, shook in her hand, as though it wanted to drop away. He smiled._

 _"Lily …" he whispered, chuckling. He shook his head pityingly. "You still trust me." A slight note of disgust infected his voice. "You've not heard hide nor hair of me for almost two years, but when I turn up in the middle of the night, to stand–" he gestured at the room with his wand in hand– "in your bedroom whilst you sleep with your husband, you_ trust _me?"_

 _Her eyes were suddenly aflame. Her back straightened, and she tightened her hand around her wand until her knuckles turned white. Her hair seemed to fizz with electric anger._

" _You will not harm them," she whispered. Her hand was no longer shaking. "You will not harm my family."_

"Your _family?" Sirius said in a low voice. His eyes flickered over to James. "He was my family before he was yours, Lily."_

 _There was a pause as she scrutinised him. The anger in her eyes turned to pity._

" _We were all your family, Sirius. All of us. We loved you."_

 _A wave of anger erupted within him. "Don't!" Sirius spat, his wand suddenly at her chin. She flinched at the impact. "Don't … don't you ever … You don't know what you've done. You don't know what you're doing."_

" _We love you, Sirius." Lily said. There were tears in her eyes now. Her voice was trembling. She placed her soft, cool hand upon his. "We love you so very much."_

" _NO!" shouted Sirius. His wand forgotten in his hand, he slapped her round the face, hard. Her hair whipped his face as she fell with the blow._

 _In an instant, James was there._

 _Wand in his hand, he faced Sirius, crouched in a protective stance in front of his wife. Lily was raising herself up off the floor. Without turning his eyes away, James reached out his free hand and Lily took it, signifying she was ok._

 _Sirius could not turn his eyes away from James's._

" _If you touch my wife again, I will kill you," said James. His tone was low, and even. "I will kill you, Sirius."_

 _Sirius froze. James had none of the hesitance his wife had had. His eyes were cold, and his gaze was steady. Sirius's heart pounded in his chest. His best friend. This was his best friend._

"Harry!" said a voice. "George, Hermione, Gin – he's awake!"

Harry opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, and his head was throbbing so hard he felt sick. He had been having a dream again. About his mother and father. And … who else?

He blinked.

The fuzzy outline of Fred was smirking down at him.

"Oh, thank _goodness_!" said Hermione's voice from far away. There were some hurried footsteps, and then Hermione and George were stood over Harry too. "You were out for _hours_ , Harry!" she said frantically, her face pale, "what on _earth_ were you doing out there? You could have been _expelled_!"

"To be fair, it was hilarious," said George.

Fred nodded. "Yeah. We'd have laughed if we'd known you weren't dead," he said.

Hermione scowled at him and passed Harry his glasses from his bedside table.

"W-where am I?" said Harry. His voice came out in a weak croak.

"The Hospital Wing," said Ginny, coming to stand over Harry too, "Ron's with Professor McGonagall."

"WHAT?" Harry shouted, suddenly sitting bolt upright. The others had to jump back to avoid being concussed. _Professor McGonagall?_ That must be serious. He tried to get up and immediately started coughing. "H-he's not in t-trouble, is he?" he spluttered.

The others exchanged glances.

"Well …" said Hermione, slowly.

"NO!" Harry exclaimed, and started coughing again.

"RIGHT!" said a sharp voice from the other end of the Hospital Wing. "All of you, either stop aggravating my patient, or I shall have to insist you leave!"

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey!" said Fred, patting Harry on the back.

"Harry," said Hermione, in a calm voice, "Ron has detention. So do you. Every Friday for a month. I think … I think Dumbledore wanted to be lenient."

Harry sat back in his bed again. Detention … four detentions. That wasn't too bad. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief, letting go of the images that had built up in his mind of Ron being expelled, Ginny never talking to him again, and Thebes scratching him raw in his sleep.

"Detention … that's okay," he said. "But – is that where Ron is? Why aren't I there, too? And what about you two? Didn't you get caught in the Forest too?"

George snorted. "They stopped bothering to punish us _ages_ ago. And as for you - as if Madam Pomfrey would let a patient do _detention_."

"Yeah," said Fred, nodding. "Don't worry, you've got out of this one. I would pick Pomfrey over McGonogall in a fight any day. And she knows it. She didn't even dare to argue."

"Yes, well never mind that," said Hermione, "What were you doing out there? Ginny and I just saw you come in!"

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny. Ginny knew perfectly well what Harry and her brothers had been doing.

"Erm … I …" he stuttered. Should he tell Hermione? Before he could answer, however, he was saved by an interjection from George.

"Never mind what he was doing, it's what he was seeing that was the issue! You were fine one minute, and the next you were as white as a sheet! You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"More like he'd seen a vampire," Fred said, "None of the Hogwartsghosts are scary enough to frighten a two-year-old."

Ginny shushed her older brother sternly, and Hermione said, "Well, Harry?"

Harry considered them all for a moment. What should he do? If he told them, they might think he was … well, they might think badly of him, anyway. Seeing a figure everywhere you went wasn't exactly a fact you wanted to share with people you'd only met a couple of days ago. But then he remembered Ron's determined nod on their first day, after he'd asked Harry about his scar. He remembered Hermione's protective stance in front of him when they had been in their confrontation with Draco Malfoy and Dudley. He remembered the gift Fred and George had given him. And _Ginny_ …

He looked at them all, resolute.

"I have something to tell you."

Fifteen minutes later, he had told them all about the figure he had seen.

Fred and George looked puzzled. Hermione was frowning, obviously contemplating the issue. Ginny's face was expressionless.

"It's obviously someone who knows the layout of Hogwarts …" said Hermione, slowly, "they wouldn't know how to find that path Hagrid led us up otherwise. And they definitely wouldn't know how to get into the forest."

"Do you think it's someone … bad?" Harry asked, his heart pounding.

"But it _can't_ be," said Hermione, "there's loads of spells around Hogwarts which prevent any dark witch or wizard from entering. I've read all about them – there's about a dozen spells protecting the grounds, and then about _fifty_ more protecting the castle –"

"Then _who_?" asked Harry, rather impatiently. He wanted someone else to suggest what he was thinking …

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. But it can't be anyone that poses a threat to the castle."

"Yeah," said Fred, stretching, "Dumbledore's the strongest wizard ever, right? There's no way anyone's getting through any spells _he's_ set in place."

"Unless …" said Harry. They all turned to look at him.

"Well," he said, "What about Sirius Black? What if he canget past them? I mean, he was _really_ powerful. Wasn't he?" He was suddenly filled with doubt. He had assumed this because of what Hagrid had told him, but … What did he _actually_ know about Sirius Black?

"Well, yes," said Hermione, hesitantly, "but … look, even the defence spells _aside_ … he's gone, Harry."

Harry looked down at his sheets. "The thing is," he said, quietly, "the thing is … I don't think he is gone. I think he's back. And I think he's coming for me."

They all sat in silence, looking shocked. Even Harry was surprised at his own words. But, as he thought about it, he found he _did_ believe Sirius Black was coming back. His scar had hurt back in Privet Drive. He'd been having dreams about his parents, the likes of which he had never had before. What else could these things mean?

He looked up at the others. "He's back. He's back and I need to stop him. I know he's the figure, I just _know_ he is."

His friends exchanged glances.

"Okay," said Ginny. Harry looked at her. Her eyes were set, and she looked determined.

Hermione appeared to be slightly alarmed. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ginny held up a hand.

"No, Hermione. Think about it. We don't know who it is. This person, this – what did you call them, Harry?"

"The figure." Harry said.

"Right, this figure – keeps to the shadows and out of sight. They were lurking in the forest, for heaven's sake! They can't be good news. Even if it's not Black, we need to _act as though_ it is. If we're as cautious as we can be, and assume that they _are_ out to hurt Harry, we have the greatest chance of keeping Harry safe. If they turn out to be someone harmless, then we won't have lost anything by being extra careful."

Harry was taken aback. He'd known Ginny was smart, but he hadn't thought she was so … well … _logical_. He thought Hermione had been the most intelligent of their group by far, but … He thought back to their classes. Hermione was vocal, always answering questions and performing her spells with accuracy. Ginny had seemed rather average in class – no better than Ron or Harry, anyway – but … perhaps Ginny's smarts weren't to do with magic. He felt his heart flutter, but quickly pulled himself back to the conversation, and looked over at Hermione.

Hermione's eyes had grown wide in surprise at Ginny's outburst. Harry thought she looked as though she was mentally flipping through every page of every wizarding book she'd ever read, trying to come up with a retort.

"Well …" Hermione said, finally, "what were you thinking of doing? We'll get in trouble if we do anything too rash. Plus, you're talking about _protecting_ Harry from him, but when Harry says he wants to 'stop' Black, he's talking about _fighting_ him, aren't you?" She turned to Harry, triumphantly. It seemed she felt she had won the argument. "Which would be ridiculous. We've not even been at Hogwarts a week, and you want to take on a wizard you think is powerful enough to get past the school's defences? The defences _Dumbledore_ put in place?"

"Well …" Harry began, then paused, suddenly embarrassed. He _had_ been talking about fighting Black, but after hearing Hermione say it out loud, the idea felt incredibly stupid.

"Dumbledore." Ginny said, suddenly. "That's it! We go to Dumbledore and tell him what Harry's seen. We don't have to _say_ we think it's Black. We just have to tell him everything Harry's told us, and he can take it from there. He's _got_ to do something about it. You can't just have random figures wandering around the place. Plus, if anyone will know about Black coming back, and what signs to look out for, it'll be him."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "That's the best thing to do." Harry thought he caught a shared glance between the two girls, but – before he could be sure – their eyes had both returned to him.

"Alright," he said. "I'll do it. As soon as I get out of here." He didn't really want to go to Professor Dumbledore about this – especially as he'd not even _spoken_ to the man yet – but Ginny and Hermione were right. It was the solution that made the most sense.

"Weeelll," George yawned, kicking Fred to wake him up. They had become bored with the conversation once Ginny and Hermione had started arguing. "This figure stuff has all been very terrifying, but Fred and I should go. Lessons to miss, and all that."

Fred and George waved goodbye to the trio and left the Hospital Wing. Hermione watched them go.

The three of them spent the next half an hour or so chatting, planning exactly what Harry should say to Dumbledore, and then Madam Pomfrey shooed the girls out so Harry could get some rest. He felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his chest as he lay down to sleep. Telling the others had been the right thing to do. Hopefully telling Dumbledore would be, too.

 _A sixteen year-old Sirius Black sat at his family dining room table. He had only been home from his fifth year of Hogwarts for two days, and already he was aching to get back. To Remus … To Peter … To James. He scowled down at his plate._

 _His father, Orion, glanced at him disapprovingly. "Lost your appetite, have you?"_

 _He did not respond. His father continued eating._

" _Sirius?" said a small voice from beside him._

" _Shut up, Regulus," muttered Sirius, not looking at his brother. He couldn't bear to see his emotional face._

 _Their mother, Walburga, set down her spoon. It made a small clink against her plate. "You have brought enough shame on this house, Sirius. Refrain from bringing more." She did not shout, but she did not look at him, either. She never did._

 _Sirius banged his fist against the table. "Funnily enough, mother," he said, in a rather loud voice, "I was thinking of_ bringing _over some acquaintances! Let's see now – there's a lovely muggle-born girl in my class – Olivia Hempsey, her name is – you'd love her, she has such a lovely smile when she talks about her parents, they're_ librarians

 _"ENOUGH!" Bellowed his mother, standing up so violently her plate and all its contents fell to the floor. Her face was suddenly red with rage. "ENOUGH! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO YOUR FAMILY! YOU BRING SHAME AND DISHONOUR ON THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS! DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK OF MUDBLOODS IN MY PRES–"_

" _FINE!" Shouted Sirius, who stood up from the table just as violently as his mother, kicking over his chair as he did so. "I'm leaving! You'll have a full Slytherin household then, won't you mother? Nice and pure for you and your dead fathers!"_

 _He ignored his brother's wails for him to come back and stormed up to his bedroom. He threw some clothes into a trunk, along with some other necessary possessions, and looked around at his bedroom for the last time. He gazed at the Gryffindor posters and hangings, sadly. How long had he been trapped in this house, with this bedroom as his only solace? He shook his head, dispelling the thought. He would be trapped no longer. He was going to live with James._

 _He rushed down the stairs, past the dining room – his brother was crying harder now, but none of his family had left the table – and was heading out of the door when he heard a low chuckle. He turned to look at the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black. Phineas was looking at him with a twinkle in his eye._

" _It'll get you in the end, you know," he said, smirking._

" _What are you talking about?" Sirius snapped._

" _You'll see," said Phineas, and he walked out of the frame._

 _Sirius walked over and punched the frame with his free hand. Dust burst out in all directions and the painting swung violently on its nail. With that, Sirius Black turned and left his family home._


End file.
